THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


ast 


A   ROMANCE -GARLAND. 


FROM  THE  GERMAN  OF  ANASTASIUS  GRUN. 


TRANSLATED,     WITH    NOTES,     BY 
JOHN  O.  SARGENT. 


NEW    YORK: 
PUBLISHED   BY   KURD   AND   HOUGHTON. 


1871. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1871,  by 

KURD  AND  HOUGHTON, 
in  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


TT 


TO 

OLIVER     WENDELL     HOLMES 

IN    MEMORY   OF  YOUNG  DAYS  NOW 

OLD   TIMES, 

THIS    VOLUME    IS    INSCRIBED  BY 
HIS   FRIEND 

JOHN  O.  SARGENT 


764028 


INTRODUCTION. 


1NASTASIUS  GRUN  is  the  poetical  pseudonym  of 
Count  ANTON  ALEXANDER  VON  AUERSPERG,  who  was 
born  April  n,  1806,  at  Laibach  in  the  Austrian  duchy 
of  Craniola.  His  father  died  early  and  left  him  the  family  estates 
at  Gurkfeld,  and  the  Castle  of  Thurn-am-Hart.  He  was  edu- 
cated in  philosophy  and  jurisprudence  at  Vienna,  where  he  went 
in  his  childhood  and  remained  till  his  twenty-fourth  year,  pass- 
ing only  his  vacations  at  the  rural  homestead.  He  afterwards 
lived  alternately  at  Vienna  and  on  his  estates,  making  occasional 
journeys  into  France,  North  and  South  Germany,  Italy,  and  Bel- 
gium. In  1838  he  married  the  Countess  Maria  Attems,  daugh- 
ter of  the  Governor-general  of  Styria.  Ten  years  later  he  was 
sent  by  the  estates  and  the  men  of  letters  of  Austria  to  the  Ger- 
man Vor-Parlament,  and  was  then  elected  by  the  circle  of  Lai- 
bach  to  the  National  Assembly,  which  he  left  in  the  autumn  of 
the  same  year,  without  having  taken  a  very  active  part  in  their 
proceedings.  On  some  important  questions  he  voted  with  the 
Left  Centre.  At  Frankfort  he  was  the  witness  of  stormy  scenes, 
and  after  the  catastrophe  of  the  eighteenth  September  (when 
his  fellow-members,  Major  Auerswald  and  Prince  Lichnowski, 
were  murdered  by  the  mob),  he  seems  to  have  retired  from 
public  life.  Regarded  as  the  head  of  the  liberal  party,  his  opin- 


vi  INTRODUCTION. 

ions  exposed  him  to  the  attentions  of  the  Austrian  police,  and  he 
was  fined  five  and  twenty  ducats  (afterwards  remitted)  for  the 
violation  of  the  ordinance  that  forbade  the  publication  of  any- 
thing by  an  Austrian,  even  in  a  foreign  country,  without  previ- 
ously submitting  it  to  the  domestic  censorship.  He  was  unjustly 
accused  of  having  changed  his  political  professions,  in  order  to 
.obtain  a  seat  in  the  House  of  Lords,  which  enabled  him  with  his 
wife  to  appear  at  court. 

After  publishing  several  minor  pieces  in  the  almanacs  —  at  that 
time  a  usual  channel  for  the  production  of  rising  authors,  —  he  ap- 
peared for  the  first  time,  in  1830,  in  a  volume  of  collected  poems 
entitled  "  Blatter  der  'Liebe."  These  poems  were  said  by  the 
critics  to  be  written  in  the  prevailing  Austrian  vein,  with  a  strong 
dash  of  HEINE.  The  same  year  he  published  at  Stuttgart  "  Der 
Letzte  Ritter,"  THE  LAST  KNIGHT,  — a  series  of  ballads  founded 
on  incidents  in  the  life  of  the  Emperor  MAXIMILIAN  I.,  —  and 
forming  a  national  poem,  which  gave  him  immediate,  and  wide 
reputation.  His  fame  was  increased  by  the  "  Spaziergange 
eines  Wiener  Poeten,"  political  lyrics,  that  well  deserved  the 
celebrity  they  attained.  These  works,  with  his  other  productions 
-  "  Schutt,"  "  Gedichte,"  "  Nibelungen  im  Frack,"  and  "  Pfaff 
Vom  Kahlenberg,"  —  exhibiting  powers  of  humor  and  irony  no 
less  than  a  high  order  of  imagination,  and  great  vigor  and  beauty 
of  expression,  entitled  him  to  rank,  and  have  maintained  his 
position  among  the  best  and  most  distinguished  of  the  living 
poets  of  Germany. 


CONTENTS. 


THE   LAST   KNIGHT. 


Page 

|]HE  RULER'S  CRADLE 3 

&j  fe^St   THE  YOUNG  PRINCE        .               9 

AUSTRIA  AND  BURGUNDY  : — 

I.     Charles  the  Bold 12 

II.     Charles's  Death 14 

III.  The  Message 17 

IV.  The  Rendezvous 19 

V.     The  Nuptials.      ..." 24 

THE  EAGLE  AND  THE  LILY:— 

I.     The  Summons 27 

II.     The  Camp 30 

III.  The  Duel 32 

IV.  The  Decision 36 

V.     Voices         ..........  39 


viii  CONTENTS. 

LOVE'S  PARTING  : —  Page 

I.    The  Heron  Chase 41 

II.     Conjuration 43 

MAX  AND  FLANDERS  :— 

I.    The  Awaking 48 

II.     Max  before  Dendermonde 50 

III.    A  Good  Ending 54 

MAXIMILIAN,  ROMAN  KING 56 

THRONE  AND  TRIPOD  : — 

I.     The  Guilds          .                        59 

II.     The  Warning      .        .        .        .        .        .    r    .         .         .  62 

III.  The  Kranenburg .  65 

IV.  The  True  Servant       .....         ...  67 

V.     Spring's  Message 70 

VI.    The  King  and  the  Cobbler 72 

VII.    Welcome  and  Farewell 75 

ST.  MARTIN'S  WALL        .       ...       .       .       .       .       .       .  77 

MAX  BEFORE  VIENNA  : — 

I.    The  Reunion t  82 

II.     Siege  of  the  Imperial  Palace      ......  86 

GERMAN  USAGE 90 

KNIGHTS  AND  FREEMEN  : — 

I.     Switzerland 95 

II.    Two  Heroes        .                                 98 

III.  Two  Days   . .103 

IV.  Two  Corpses 1 10 

V.     Freedom                                      .        .                ...  112 


CONTENTS.  ix 

THE  FIGHT  AT  THE  GRAVE  : —  Page 
I.     The  Treasure  at  Burghausen       .         .        .         .         .         .115 

II.     The  Bohemian  Fight 118 

III.  Max  before  Kuffstein 122 

IV.  The  Peace  Banquet     .        .        .         .        .         ...         .128 

THE  LAST  VICTORY  :  — 

I.     The  League  of  the  Princes 130 

II.     Guinegate .  134 

III.     The  Pilgrimage  .  • 138 

MAX  IN  AUGSBURG  :— 

I.     Entry 142 

II.     Max  and  Diirer '.  145 

HI.     Departure 148 

THE  PRINCE.     Transition 151 

RETURN  HOME  : — 

I.     Death  in  View 156 

II.     The  Departure  from  Innsbruck .         .....  162 

III.     The  WiU  and  Testament 165 

IV.     Knight  Venturesome 172 

NOTES  AND  ILLUSTRATIONS    .........  176 


Cbe  Outer's  Crafcle, 

(I459-) 

HITHER,   thou   sad   companion  ?      And    cripples, 

whither  ye  ? 
Whither,  ye  riders  ?     Whither,  thou  sailor  of  the 

sea? 

Whether  sailing,  limping,  riding,  all  are  bound  to  Kingdom  Come, 
While  I  am  making  coffins  for  you  and  me  at  home." 

Hard  by  the  Castle  of  Neustadt,  in  a  joiner's  house,  this  song 
In  hollow  clang  resounding,  may  be  heard  the  whole  day  long; 
The  youthful  master  sings  it,  as  soon  as  the  morning  glows, 
With  the  fresh  lips  of  boyhood,  where  the  first  down  scarcely  blows. 


4  THE    RULER'S    CRADLE. 

There  enter'd  once  this  workshop,  in  joyful  haste,  a  man — 

"  A  cradle  make,  my  master,  as  quickly  as  you  can  ; 

Good  luck  to  Emperor  Frederick,  and  the  crown  by  his  father  worn, 

Leonor',  the  haughty  Empress,1  this  day  a  son  has  borne." 

The  joiner  makes  the  cradle  from  scantling  strong  and  dry, 
From  the  same  scantling  fashion'd  a  coffin  stands  hard  by  ; 
Around  fly  the  chips  and  splinters,  saw  creaks,  and  hammer  rinses. 
Meanwhile  his  old-time  ditty  the  youthful  master  sings. 


In  the  castle  chapel  a  baptistry  of  polished  marble  gleams, 
Whence  to-day  on  the  brow  of  an  infant  the  holy  water  streams  ; 
Now  rises  the  Bishop  of  Salzburg,  and  heavenward  lifts  his  eyes, 
"  This  infant — Maximilian — in  God's  name,  I  baptize." 

Oh,  Leonor' !    Oh,  Frederick  !  until  this  happy  day, 
The  stars  on  your  alliance  have  shed  no  placid  ray : 
Lisboa's  stately  daughter  now  looks  fondly  in  his  face, 
And  clasps  the  royal  craven  with  a  womanly  embrace. 


THE    RULER'S    CRADLE.  5 

Around  the  cradle  the  courtiers  in  a  gorgeous  circle  lean, 
That  the  boy  may  be  used  thus  early  to  the  splendour  of  such  a  scene ; 
While  over  the  child  bends  Leonor',  to  fondle  it  and  to  kiss, 
Forgetting  she  is  a  princess,  in  the  flush  of  a  mother's  bliss. 

I  see  two  strangers  standing  the  throng  of  courtiers  nigh, 
Guests  to  my  vision  palpable,  but  to  no  other  eye ; 
One  of  them  is  a  woman,  who  in  beauty's  bloom  appears, 
The  other  an  ancient  wizard,  wither'd  and  bent  by  years. 

Death,  in  the  tongue  of  mortals,  the  meagre  old  man  is  hight, 
And  Life  is  the  name  of  the  woman,  so  beautiful  and  bright  ; 
With  silent  steps,  and  viewless,  the  twain  through  the  circle  glide, 
And  to  Life,  pale  Death,  the  grey-beard,  thus  speaks  by  the  cradle's 
side. 

"  The  threads  of  this  child's  destiny,  say,  which  of  us  shall  twine  ? 
The  boy  will  be  a  monarch,  and  therefore  be  he  mine  ! 
The  boy  will  be  a  monarch,  and  alike,  whether  bad  or  good, 
Never  died,  on  earth  a  monarch  free  from  the  stain  of  blood. 

"  Of  the  world  and  its  sweet  allurements  he  nothing  knows  as  yet, 
It  will  be  to  him  no  anguish  if  my  seal  on  his  brow  is  set ; 
Well  for  him  should  he  depart  now,  for  his  heart  would  never  know, 
Haply,  the  pangs  of  royalty,  or  the  pangs  of  human  woe. 


6  THE    RULER'S    CRADLE. 

"  Were  his  eyes  closed  now,  were  his  pulses  neyer  to  throb  again, 
It  might  spare  the  immolation  of  whole  hecatombs  of  men  ; 
A  thousand  eyes  might  be  smiling  he  would  make  with  weeping  red, 
And  a  thousand  gardens  blooming  he  would  people  with  the  dead. 

"  If  now  this  brain  were  wither'd,  it  were  spared  the  contemplation 
Of  the  graves  that  may  be  needed  to  lay  a  throne's  foundation ; 
If  this  blood  stop  now,  the  blood  of  his  people  will  not  stream 
To  colour  the  purple  which  haply  to  his  eye  too  pale  may  seem. 

"  It  is  the  fate  of  humanity,  that  monarchs  should  cause  men  grief; 
And  were  he  vouchsafed  by  heaven  of  the  world's  best  kings  the  chief, 
He  must  sometime  cause  his  people  to  know  the  bitterest  smart, 
When  Fate  in  the  midst  of  his  greatness  stops  the  pulses  of  his  heart." 

And  Death  is  mute.     In  the  circle  his  utterance  no  one  heard, 
But  as  he  spoke,  the  heart's  blood  grew  cold  with  every  word, 
The  flowers  at  the  window  wilting,  around  their  pale  leaves  lie  ; 
And  his  first  unconscious  tear-drops  bedew  the  infant's  eye. 

"  Now  in  the  veins  of  this  infant  shall  the  heart's  blood  cease  to  flow  ? 
Shall  his  eyes  be  shorn  of  their  lustre,  and  his  cheeks  grow  pale  ? 

Ah,  No! 

As  the  son  of  Life  I  claim  him — mine  shall  the  boy  be,  mine ! 
My  kiss  is  on  his  forehead — my  arms  his  limbs  entwine ! 


THE    RULER'S     CRADLE.  ; 

"  He  shall  become  a  monarch  in  the  world's  imperial  strife  ; 
Crown'd  and  enthroned,  the  monarch  is  the  chosen  son  of  Life ; 
The  cities  now  in  ashes  from  their  ruins  he  uprears, 
From  the  eyes  that  now  are  weeping  he  wipes  away  the  tears. 

"  He  gladly  plucks  the  laurel,  and  the  wreath  of  evergreen, 
To  circle  the  brow  of  manhood  with  its  unfading  sheen  ; 
He  lifts  the  lofty  steeple,  and  spreads  the  ample  nave, 
Where  sepulchres  are  yawning,  and  grave-yard  grasses  wave. 

"  The  people's  weal  is  the  pillow  whereon  he  sleeps  softly  by  night, 
The  people's  hearts  are  the  columns  that  sustain  his  throne  aright ; 
The  columns  seem  ever  too  few  for  him,  the  pillow  seems  ever  too 

small, 
His  faith  is  the  strength  of  his  sceptre,  his  charity  reacheth  all. 


"  And  as  the  sunbeams  visibly,  invisibly  there  breathe 

Soft  airs   from  the   throne  of  the  monarch,  that  bless  the  lands 

beneath ; 

Concord  dwells  in  the  palace,  and  content  the  cottage  fills ; 
Peace  trills  in  the  songs  of  the  valleys,  and  freedom  blows  from  the 

hills. 


8  THE    RULER'S    CRADLE. 

"  As  the  larks  in  tuneful  chorus  warble  out  in  the  morning  sky, 
So  for  him  breathing  their  orisons  a  thousand  souls  heavenward 

fly; 
And  blessings  shall  still  float  upward  from  the  spot  where  his  ashes 

lie; 
This  is  the  work  of  a  monarch,  and  this  be  his  destiny  !" 

Life  speaks-  in  a  voice  of  triumph,  on  her  brow  a  glory  appears, 
Though  as  none  in  the  circle  sees  her,  so  none  in  the  circle  hears  ; 
But  the  larks  break  forth  in  a  carol,  through  the  fields  spring  airs 

blow  mild, 
And  the  first  gentle  smile  of  gladness  flits  over  the  lips  of  the  child. 

And  as  the  child,  so  around  him  the  attending  courtiers  smile, 
But  the  Emperor,  lost  in  reflection,  the  circle  leaves  the  while : 
Going  forth  with  the  astrologers,  the  old  men  and  the  wise, 
To  read  the  infant's  future  in  the  letters  of  the  skies. 

More  warmly  Leonora,  and  yet  more  warmly  press'd, 
To  her  heart  the  tender  infant,  and  cradled  him  on  her  breast ; 
In  his  twin  eyes  fondly  gazing  with  a  mother's  look  divine, 
"  Ye  stars  of  my  good  fortune,  thus  ever  on  me  shine!" 


prince. 


(TRANSITION.) 

VINE-DRESSER  has  planted  at  his  cottage  door  a 

vine, 
And  fresh  in  the  sun  of  spring-time  its  tender  leaflets 

shine  ; 

Full  soon  the  little  plant  joyfully  tosses  its  rich  green  leaves, 
And  gives  spring  and  earth  its  greeting,  and  the  greeting  it  gives  — 
receives. 

And  spring-time  follows  on  spring-time,  and  boldly  its  tendrils  aspire, 
And  the  stem  throws  out  its  branches,  which  ever  climb  higher  and 

higher  ; 

And  with  richer  growth  and  richer  its  foliage  sways  in  the  air, 
And  its  green  arms  fondly  shelter  the  earliest  clusters  there. 

C 


io  THE     YOUNG    PRINCE. 

On  a  shaft  the  vine-dresser  trains  it,  whereto  it  may  safely  cling ; 
But  in  the  air,  proudly  and  freely,  it  loves  by  itself  to  swing : 
And  spring-time  follows  on  spring-time,  and  the  foliage,  lush  and 

green, 
Creeps  over  the  vine-dresser's  cottage,  and  covers  it  like  a  screen  ; 

And  ai'ches  itself  to  a  cupola,  where  the  matted  foliage  strays, 
And  arches  itself  to  an  arbour  where  cluster  on  cluster  sways ; 
Around  fly  the  birds  and  warble  the  little  songs  sweet  to  hear, 
For  where  the  grapes  are  abounding,  the  singers  are  sure  to  be  near ! 

And  what  a  joy  and  a  blessing  to  the  vine- dresser  and  his  wife, 
When  they  see  the  scion  expanding,  so  full  of  beauty  and  life  ; 
While  in  the  embower'd  cottage  dwell  friendship,  love  and  content, 
And  the  clink  of  glasses  with  psalmody  and  voices  of  mirth  is  blent. 

Oh,  Leonor*  and  Frederick !  the  years  in  pleasure  glide, 
As  your  son  matures  in  beauty  and  in  stature  by  your  side ; 
As  he  from  child  to  stripling,  to  youth  from  boyhood  grows, 
In  his  heart  the  warmth  of  spring-time  and  on  his  cheek  the  rose ! 

How  of  the  world  regardless  you  see  the  unthinking  boy, 
When  his  father's  crown  is  nothing  to  him  but  a  shining  toy : 
How  life's  problem  is  unfolded  as  the  years  his  cheeks  embrown, 
And  he  reads  the  mystic  meaning  of  the  Cross  upon  the  Crown. 


THE     YOUNG    PRINCE.  11 

How  the  pedant,  who  would  drill  him  in  the  jargon  of  the  schools, 
Finds  a  mind  he  cannot  shackle  with  the  rigour  of  his  rules  ; 
While  he,  who  light  and  wisdom  and  justice  would  impart, 
Finds  a  seed-time  and  a  harvest  in  the  garden  of  his  heart. 

Frederick  looks  on  him  with  wonder  and  shakes  his  naked  head, 

As  a  lame  man  sees  the  dancers  the  mazy  circle  tread, 

But  the  heart  of  Leonora  is  with  pride  and  rapture  wild, 

As  she  whispers  oft — there's  nothing  of  the  father  in  the  child  ! 

How  lordly,  son  of  princes,  in  crowded  life  you  rise, 
The  beams  of  hope  he  drinketh  who  looks  into  your  eyes  ; 
You  find  your  brilliant  image  in  the  gorgeous  morning  cloud, 
Lit  with  the  golden  glory  its  veiling  mists  enshroud. 

You  are  a  spring  full  of  flowers  that  in  the  bud  cradled  He, 
A  heaven  of  constellations,  shut  out  by  a  clouded  sky : 
You  are  a  sea  full  of  pearls  hid  under  the  billowy  brine, 
A  mountain  full  of  diamonds,  still  buried  in  the  mine. 

Hail,  when  your  day  once  calleth !  the  Orient  in  a  blaze, 

Flowers,  stars,  and  pearls,  and  diamonds  flash  out  in  the  sun's  first 

rays; 

Then  shower  not  on  your  people  as  alms  your  morning  light, 
Which  their  long  and  hopeful  waiting  makes  a  duty  and  a  right. 


Austria  anti 


I.     CHARLES    THE   BOLD. 

T  Treves  there  sit2  two  Princes  over  their  golden  wine, 
No    courtiers    lounge    there   listening,   and    only   the 

lustre's  shine 

Betrays  a  wrinkled  forehead  where  a  royal  crown  reposes, 
And  a  youthful  visage  radiant  with  smiles  enwreathed  in  roses. 

One,  a  melancholy  hero,  is  rich  in  deeds  of  fame, 

And  one,  like  a  young  cedar,  fresh  and  vigorous  of  frame  ; 

The  one  seems  a  day  of  Autumn,  which  brings  home  the  yellow 

fruit, 
The  other  a  Spring  morning,  that  quickens  the  germ  and  root. 


CHARLES    THE    BOLD.  13 

One  is  like  the  mossy  oak-tree,  at  whose  trunk  the  woodman  stands; 
The  other,  a  tender  sapling,  needs  the  gardener's  training  hands ; 
One  seems  the  sun  at  its  setting  in  the  crimson  surge  of  the  West, 
The  other  the  star  of  Love  beaming  with  smiles  on  the  Orient's  crest. 

It  seems  to  the  earnest  hero  that  afresh  his  spring-time  blows, 
When  the  eye  of  his  young  companion  with  native  ardour  glows ; 
And  the  air  round  the  youth  seems  rustling  with  the  sweep   of 

Time's  swift  pinion, 
As  his  serious  friend  discourses  of  kingcraft  and  dominion. 

The  one  is  rich  in  victories,  and  rest  is  now  his  aim, 
The  other  plans  achievements  to  win  him  future  fame ; 
The  one  is  call'd  the  Bold  in  all  Burgundy,  the  other 
All  Germans  know   as   "  Austria's    Max,"   and   love   him  like   a 
brother. 

Each  at  the  other  gazes,  and  presses  hand  in  hand, 

While,  fill'd  to  the  brim  beside  them,  the  golden  goblets  stand  ; 

And  Friendship's  rosy  fingers  the  faithful  colours  blend, 

To  paint  on  the  heart  of  either  the  likeness  of  his  friend. 

Like  an  image  of  the  Virgin  upon  an  oak-tree  laid, 
So  gleams  on  Charles's  bosom  the  image  of  a  maid, 


14  AUSTRIA     AND    BURGUNDY. 

Like  himself,  as  the  reflection  of  the  sun  is  in  the  sea, 
Which  softer  than  its  counterpart  and  milder  well  may  be. 

The  sun  the  eye  may  dazzle,  not  its  image  in  the  water, 
So  Max  looks  long  and  gladly  on  the  portrait  of  the  daughter; 
And  when  with  Charles's  goblet  his  own  together  clinks, 
He  can  hardly  say  for  certain  whose  health  it  is  he  drinks. 

In  the  morning,  as  the  Princes  are  about  to  bid  adieu, 
Warm  heart  to  warm  heart  pressing,  it  was  beautiful  to  view 
Their  warriors  gathering  round  them,  and  clasping  hand  in  hand, 
While  the  rosy  dawn  with  its  blushes  suffuses  all  the  land. 


II.     CHARLES'S    DEATH. 

| HE  moon  looks  down  on  lovely  lands,  in  traversing  the 

skies, 

But  joyously  o'er  Burgundy  she  stops  to  feast  her  eyes ; 
The  sun  who  dallies  gallantly  with  ladies  north  and  south,  • 
Is  never  tired  of  kissing  Burgundian  Mary's  mouth. 


CHARLES'S     DEATH.  15 

Rich  is  the  Duke  of  Burgundy  in  beautiful  domains  ; 
Purple  clusters  gem  the  hill-tops,  and  yellow  sheaves  the  plains ; 
Rich  cities  and  free  peoples  in  the  streams  reflected  shine, 
And  Bliss  is  here  the  reaper,  and  Plenty  trims  the  vine. 

Earth  strives  with  all  her  treasures  his  possessions  to  environ, 
His  lands  abound  in  quarries,  and  in  mines  of  lustrous  iron  ; 
For  him  full  many  a  castle  in  pride  and  splendour  looms, 
And  in  the  golden  castle  a  lovely  daughter  blooms. 

With  a  sword  in  battle  temper' d  he  must  defend  his  lands, 
That  their  gardens  may  not  wither  in  the  smoke  of  hostile  brands ; 
He  must  protect  these  treasures,  to  flourish  and  increase 
Long  after  their  true  guardian  in  the  grave-yard  rests  in  peace. 

"  Farewell !  if  I  return  not,  my  daughter,  calm  thy  fears, 
And  bathe  in  a  new  sun-light  the  spring-time  of  thy  years ; 
In  Austria  may  it  shine  on  thee,  and  wealth  of  blessings  shower, 
In  a  pride  that  brooks  no  rival  there  blooms  the  hero-flower." 

Gazing  after  him  intently  the  weeping  daughter  stands, 
As  the  gallant  father  sallies  forth  with  his  intrepid  bands  ; 
Like  the  thunder  and  the  lightning  in  the  clefts  of  clouded  skies, 
See  the  flash  of  glittering  weapons,  and  hark  the  battle  cries ! 


16  AUSTRIA     AND    BURGUNDY. 

By  Nancy,  for  the  ravens  is  a  carnival  in  store, 
Sits  the  Duke  in  bloody  judgment,  who  never  will  judge  more ! 
There  the  hero-tree  of  Burgundy  was  prostrate,  branch  and  stem, 
Flowers   of  Lorraine   and   Switzerland — the  same   blast  wither'd 

them ! 

• 

Mark  the  colours  and  the  crests  which  the  hosts  opposing  show, 
Mark  the  crests  and  colours  mingled  where  the  slaughter'd  hosts 

lie  low : 

Like  kings  in  purple  mantles  with  smoking  carnage  red — 
Know  you  who  has  thus  united  them  ?     Death  reconciles  the  dead ! 

At  Nancy  a  new  tombstone  in  the  Cathedral  lies, 
And  o'er  it  like  a  statue  leans  a  maid  with  weeping  eyes ; 
On  her  countenance  is  brooding  a  sorrow  dark  and  deep, 
One  here  may  see  a  daughter  for  a  loving  father  weep. 

At  Nancy  in  the  grave-yard  a  multitude  appear, 

Led  by  the  ties  of  sorrow  from  districts  far  and  near : 

And  if  any  tears  are  shed  there,  they  without  deception  fall —  . 

The  mourners,  as  they  bury  us,  adjudge  the  deeds  of  all  1 


THE    MESSAGE.  17 


III.    THE   MESSAGE. 

AX  alone  in  meditation  in  his  silent  chamber  reads, 
He  thinks  of  the  words  of  sages,  and  cons  heroic  deeds  ; 
When  greeting  comes  a   messenger,  of   a  strange  sort, 

forsooth  ; 
What  news  may  he  be  bringing  to  the  imperial  youth  ? 

One  could  not  well  conjecture  if  his  news  were  good  or  bad, 
He  wore  the  garb  of  mourning — but  his  countenance  was  glad  ; 
As  the  angel  of  death  approaches,  like  a  messenger  of  wrath, 
But  smiling,  kisses  the  sufferer,  and  points  to  a  rosy  path. 

"  From  a  maid  I  bring  you  greeting,  the  sweetest  maid  can  send, 
And  the  last  kiss  of  remembrance  from  an  old  departed  friend : 
I  was  sent  to  you  from  Nancy,  and  I  came  upon  the  wing, 
And  with  me  this  little  letter,  in  charge  to  you  I  bring." 

To  Max  thus  spake  the  messenger.     "  Oh,  mayst  thou  come  from 

one"—   . 

Max  whispers,  "whom  I  think  of,  and  whom  I  love  alone ! 
Though  mine  eye  has  not  beheld  her,  in  her  alone  I  trust, 
As  in  the  unseen  heaven,  and  the  glory  of  the  just." 

D 


18  AUSTRIA     AND    BURGUNDY. 

* 
He  oped  the  letter  silently — therein  a  gold  ring  lay, 

Whence  the  sapphire  and  the  diamond  sent  forth  a  blended  ray  ; 
And  a  grey  lock  lay  beside  it — red  with  blood  was  many  a  hair, — 
Words  sad  to  him,  words  dear  to  him,  that  little  letter  share. 

"  He  was  friend  to  us,  and  father — who  beneath  the  gravestone 

sleeps, 

Where  a  daughter  in  affliction  for  him  who  loved  us  weeps, 
In  joy,  in  woe,  he  thought  of  thee — thus  think  of  him,  I  pray, 
And  next  thy  heart  preserve  it,  this  precious  lock  of  grey. 

"  Thine  by  the  choice  of  my  father,  my  heart's  choice  rests  on  thee, 
Then  take  this  little  ring  of  gold,  though  poor  and  frail  it  be ; 
It  will  answer  for  a  token,  when  thou  comest  I  will  know, 
By  the  blue  shine  of  the  sapphire,  and  the  diamond's  liquid  glow." 

Max  kiss'd  the  ring  and  the  ringlet,  his  heart  in  sad  eclipse, 
"  Oh,  Charles,  and  oh,  my  Mary" — still  dwell  upon  his  lips  ; 
"  Oh,  silver  star  of  friendship,  thy  course  ends  bloody  red  ! 
Oh,  star  of  love,  how  thou  risest,  so  golden  overhead  !  " 

Then  an  o'erflowing  tear-drop  which  from*  his  eyelids  roll'd, 
Fell  on  the  lock  of  grey  and  the  little  ring  of  gold  ; 
Was  it  born  of  pain  or  pleasure,  the  tear  that  dimm'd  his  eyes  ? 
Your  heart  indeed  may  guess  it,  but  I  may  not  surmise  ! 3 


THE    RENDEZVOUS.  19 


IV.   THE   RENDEZVOUS. 

HE  feather'd  choir  returning  in  gladsome  chorus  sirig, 
And  the  buds  outpeeping  timidly  inaugurate  the  spring"; 
When  Max  and  the  Duke  of  Bavaria  for  a  stroll  in  the 

green  fields  start, 
And  the  Prince  to  his  friend  lays  open  the  secret  of  his  heart : 

"  My  Louis,  how  superbly  life  buds  and  blooms  around, 
What  notes  of  busy  gladness  from  hut  and  palace  sound  ! 
With  the  germs  of  spring  returning,  love's  messengers  appear, 
And  you  shall  be  the  messenger  of  greeting  to  my  dean 

"  Hie  hence  to  Mary  of  Burgundy,  and  my  obeisance  make, 
And  then  as  my  loyal  legate  her  hand  at  the  altar  take  ; 
To  the  bridal  couch  attend  her, — nay,  rogue,  you  must  not  smile. 
For  your  loyalty  requires  you  to  be  clad  in  mail  the  while. 

"  Your  right  leg  cased  in  steel,  and  in  steel  vour  right  arm  cased, 
With  a  keen  edge  and  shining— -a  sword  between  you  placed  ; 
This  means,  woe  to  the  traitor  who  our  sacred  bond  would  sever, 
That  means,  in  peace  and  war  her  name  is  my  legend  ever." 


20  AUSTRIA     AND    BURGUNDY. 

Rides  off  the  Duke  of  Bavaria — he  is  jubilant  and  gay, 
All  are  smiling,  priest  or  soldier,  who  meet  him  on  the  way, 
And  citizen  and  peasant  rejoicingly  admires, 

And  the  handsome  Duchess  of  Burgundy  in  the  country  of  her 
sires ! 


Before  the  gates  of  Ghent  clouds  of  dust  the  entrance  veil, 
Where  banners  float,  flash  weapons,  and  glisten  coats  of  mail ; 
There's  a  tramping  and  a  stamping  where  the  horses  paw  the  ground, 
There's  a  singing- and  a  ringing  where  the  warriors'  shouts  resound 

Through  the  city's  crowded  avenues  the  cavalcade  proceeds, 
Nine  hundred  German  nobles,  in  armour,  on  their  steeds  ; 
In  their  midst  behold  a  stripling  his  chestnut  charger  rein  ; 
Why  thronging  thus  around  him  do  the  people  all  remain  ? 

He  is  dress'd  in  simple  armour,  but  a  coronet  of  pearls, 
Sole  emblem  of  distinction,  bedecks  his  yellow  curls, 
Is  it  this  then,  or  the  brightness  which  flashes  in  his  eye, 
That  challenges  the  homage  of  every  passer-by  ? 


THE    RENDEZVOUS.  21 

Forth  issues  then  the  Duchess  to  meet  the'  cavalcade, 
Her  countenance  the  mirror  in  which  beauty  is  arrayed  ; 
In  her  raven  ringlets  gleaming  a  cluster  of  diamonds  bright, 
Like  a  living  constellation  set  in  the  swarthy  night. 

She  look'd  the  youthful  hero  in  his  shining  eye  of  blue, 

"  Ha  !  the  pure  flash  of  the  diamond,  and   the   sapphire's  azure 

hue!" 

Then  upon  his  golden  tresses  a  long  regard  she  bent, 
"  You  bring  me  a  thousand  ringlets  for  the  little  ring  I  sent." 

She  sinks  on  his  manly  bosom,  and  yields  to  a  chaste  embrace, 
"  Come  to  my  heart,  thou  scion  of  a  npble  German  race." 
Max  was  the  happy  youth,  you  would  hardly  need  be  told, — 
She  knew  from  the  sapphire  and  diamond,  and  the  little  ring  of  gold. 


In  air  and  wood  already  the  voice  of  the  singers  was  spent, 
But  the  tones  of  the  harp  resounded  still  in  the  palace  of  Ghent ; 
And  if  moon  and  stars  were  thinking  by  themselves  to  take  the  air, 
They  found  in  the  palace  gardens  two  others  their  walk  to  share. 


22  AUSTRIA     AND    BURGUNDY. 

In  the  palace  joy  carouses  as  the  mountain  torrent  raves, 
Love  whispers  in  the  gardens,  like  the  flow  of  summer  waves  ; 
The  Wood  believes  that  whispering  is  his  exclusive  right ; 
To  such  a  tale  one  pair  at  least  will  give  the  lie  to-night ! 

One  only  hears  their  whispers,  who  high  in  ether  dwells, 

And  she  who  knows  the  secret  is  the  only  one  who  tells — 

She  told  me  (confidentially)  the  whole  of  what  she  heard, 

Thus  the  moon,  the  stars'  pale  keeper,  mine  ancient  friend,  averr'd. 

"  Oh,  were  we  but  two  planets  which  near  each  other  glow, 
Oh,  were  we  but  two  clouds  which  soft  airs  together  blow, 
We  should  look  then  on  the  earth  as  the  Now  on  Long  Ago, 
As  Liberty  on  Fetters,  as  Happiness  on  Woe. 

"  We  would  be  indeed  two  flowers  which  rejoice  the  heart  and  eye, 
With  their  perfume  and  their  beauty,  of  all  who  saunter  by; 
We  would  gaze  on  one  another  and  on  the  s.un  in  the  sky, 
And  when  we  fade  to  heaven  on  the  wings  of  zephyrs  fly. 

"  Then  from  the  empyrean,  on  the  earth  which  was  our  home, 
We  would  smilingly  contemplate  our  cradle  and  our  tomb," — 
So  they  prattle  and  they  rattle  as  lovers  always  do, 
If  you've  loved  you  understand  it,  and  if  not,  the  worse  for  you. 


THE    RENDEZVOUS.  23 

The  wind  is  quite  too  civil  their  chat  to  discompose — 

As  if  it  trod  on  tip-toe  the  streamlet  gently  flows ; 

Mute  are  the  gossip  poplars,  though  they  love  to  say  their  say — 

Hush,  ye  sisters,  for  to-morrow  there  will  be  another  day. 

Through  the  hall  with  friendly  greetings  the  bridal  couple  strays, 
Where  whirl  the  vigorous  dancers  in  the  myriad  candles'  blaze, 
There  higher  swells  the  bodice  of  many  a  youthful  dame, 
While  hearts  under  knightly  doublets  heave  with  a  kindred  flame. 

But  who  is  he,  good  fellow,  in  yonder  corner  found, 
With  Rhenish  wines,  and  French  wines,  and  goblets  heap'd  around; 
With  a  crowd  of  gapers  listening,  as  if  marvels  would  never  cease, 
As  they  paint  the  wolf  in  Vienna,  a-preaching  to  the  geese  ?• 

His  eye  is  soft  and  radiant,  his  lip  just  curl'd  with  scorn, 

His  brow  is  old  and  wrinkled,  but  his  cheek  wears  the  flush  of  morn; 

He  is  Conrad  von  der  Rosen,  by  the  courtiers  call'd  a  fool, 

Yet  the  wise  man  feels  he's  wiser  for  a  lesson  in  his  school. 

And  as  he  saw  the  bridegroom  approaching  with  the  bride, 
He  raised  two  brimming  goblets,  stood  up,  and  thus  he  cried  : 
"  Hail  to  Burgundy  and  Austria  !     Hail,  noble  pair,  to  you ! 
For  near  is  what  was  distant,  and  single  what  was  two ! 


24  AUSTRIA     AND    BURGUNDY. 

"  Thus  we  behold  two  rainbows  born  of  a  single  sun, 
Where  river  flows  to  river,  forsooth,  the  stream  is  one ;. 
What  are  two  flowers  apart  are  a  nosegay  in  society, 
And  two  sorts  of  wine  in  the  head  give  rise  to  one  inebriety !" 


V.     THE   NUPTIALS. 

T  Bruges  in  the  minster,  on  columns  and  on  shrines, 
From  thousand  candelabras,  a  wondrous  radiance  shines  : 
Bands  of  priests  in  splendid  garments  defile  beneath  its 
arches, 
While  without  a  lordly  company  to  the  Cathedral  marches. 

Borne  loftily  before  them  the  double  banner  streams, 
Where  Burgundy's  gold  lily-wreath  on  Austria's  purple  gleams  : 
Very  strong  is  the  alliance  of  such  people  and  such  lands, 
But  the  wreath  to  which  the  lovers  turn  twines  firmer,  stronger 
bands. 


THE    NUPTIALS.  25 

From  seventy  lands,  a  herald  bears  the  banner  of  each  land, 
Of  knights  in  shining  armour,  a  noble  blooming  band  ; 
They  ride  in  earnest  silence,  by  God's  breath  circled  round, 
While  the  horses  stamp  and  neigh  and  the  rattling  arms  resound. 

White  as  the  foam  of  fountains,  many  hundred  horses  prance, 
On  helmets,  and  on  lances,  the  green  sprays  float  and  dance  ; 
Many  hundred  armours  glisten,  as  the  snow  in  moonlight  gleams, 
And  harp-strings  make  a  music,  like  the  ripples  of  the  streams. 

If  a  sea-gull,  sweeping  over  it,  in  the  air  should  chance  to  be, 
He  would  dive  to  bathe  his  plumage  in  such  a  silver  sea ; 
The  nightingale  whose  threnody  from  yon  balcony  trills, 
Would  think  the  space  beneath  him  a  grove  of  laurel  fills. 

Three  wagon-loads  of  mountebanks  appear  in  the  procession, 
They  are  all  as  prim  and  modest  as  monks  at  a  confession : 
Even  Conrad  their  good  master  no  tricks  or  pranks  can  play, 
For  the  fool  it  is  a  festival,  he  need  not  fool  to-day. 

Thou,  the  master  of  this  pageant  and  this  merry  mummery, 
Wouldst  bid  to  the  feast  the  outcasts  who  in  the  prisons  be ; 
That  they  may  see  God's  daylight,  that  they  may  breathe  God's 

breath, 

Their  grave  doors  thou  wouldst  open,  and  break  the  chains  of  Death. 

E 


26  AUSTRIA     AND    BURGUNDY. 

See  how  the  bridal  coronets  with  precious  brilliants  glow, 
But  the  eyes  of  the  bridal  couple  a  purer  radiance  show ; 
How  still  the  lips,  yet  speaking  with  such  emphasis  and  grace, 
He  recks  not  of  their  ornaments  who  looks  into  their  face. 

In  the  house  of  God  his  blessing  the  grey-hair'd  Bishop  spake, 
And  the  plain  gold  rings  of  wedlock,  bride  and  bridegroom  give  and 

take ; 

Then  snapp'd  the  ring  of  one  of  them — it  boded  nothing  good — 
And  the  light  of  an  acolyte  went  out  who  at  the  altar  stood. 

With  myriad  stars,  the  canopy  of  heaven  was  lit  that  night, 
But  the  lights  by  far  outnumber'd  them  that  made  all  Bruges  bright, 
And  if  you  cannot  read  the  scroll  that  God  wrote  in  the  sky, 
You  may  read  on  the  town-house  written  a  plain  transparency  : 

"31n  marriage,  Ijappp  #u0tria,  not  in  armg  tljp  fortunes  be,5 
Sl^argf  gitjesf  to  otljcrg  feingtiomgf  tljat  2Uenu0  gtfce<s  to  tljee." 

Max  and  Mary's  names  thereunder  inscribed  in  colour'd  light, 
Did  they  see  them  ?    History  tells  not  if  they  saw  the  scroll  that 
night. 


anti  tfre  Si. 


I.    THE   SUMMONS. 

HILE  here  our  time  we're  wasting  in  tournament  and 

dance, 
They  drink  our  wine  in  Burgundy,  these  easy  sons  of 

France ; 

While  here  our  ears  we  tickle  with  telling  tales  and  singing, 
There  the  frequent  crack  of  the  musket  sets  many  an  ear  a-ringing. 

"  A  fool,  that  on  his  death-bed  would  twine  a  nuptial  wreath  ! 
Who  would  not  tear  the  plaything  from  the  bony  hand  of  Death  ? 
'Mid  shouts  and  shrieks  for  succour,  and  the  fire-bell's  alarm, 
By  his  burning  house  what  simpleton  would  cry — How  fine  and 
warm ! 


28  THE    EAGLE    AND     THE    LILY. 

"  Then  up,  ye  Lords  and  Nobles !  dance  to  the  trumpets  bray, 
Win  in  fight  a  fresher  garland  !  throw  these  wither'd  wreaths  away. 
Up !  and  your  steps  to  the  marches  right  speedily  incline, 
And  with  your  French  Amphytrions  invite  yourselves  to  dine." 

Thus  Max's  speech  resounded  through  the  high  and  splendid  hall, 
A  peal  of  approbation  went  forth  from  the  nobles  all  ; 
And,  hark !  below  from  the  court-yard,  outringing  loud  and  clear, 
Above  the  shouts  of  the  revellers,  the  neigh  of  a  horse  they  hear. 

All  eyes  are  turn'd  to  the  window  whence  comes  this  sudden  sound, 
And  a  white  steed  stood  thereunder  to  a  marble  column  bound  ; 
"  A  noble  beast,  by  the  heavens !  prithee  tell  me  from  what  stall  ?" 
Their  heads  the  courtiers  shook  then,  and  shrugg'd  their  shoulders 
all. 

His  neck,  how  proudly  arching !    How  full  of  fire  his  eye  ! 
A  glossy  skin,  and  spotless  as  the  blue  of  a  spring-tide  sky  ! 
His  golden  tasselFd  trappings  with  a  tinkle-tinkle  sound, 
As  with  hoof  superbly  pawing  he  stamps  upon  the  ground. 

The  beast  his  purple  saddle-cloth  wears  proudly  as  a  king, 
"  Ha  !  ha  !  behold  a  billet-doux — a  very  funny  thing  ! 
Under  the  tail  suspended,  a  milk-white  missive  see, 
Now,  somebody,  run  down  there  and  find  what  that  may  be." 


THE    S  UMMONS.  29 

One  lifts  the  tail  and  cautiously  he  takes  the  letter  thence, 
Writ  of  the  following  tenor  or  in  the  following  sense  : 
"  We,  Louis,  of  France  the  eleventh,  Navarre  et  caetera, 
King  by  the  grace  of  God,  and  Duke  of  Burgundia." 

"  Ah,  fastens  our  Cousin  his  mandate  in  such  a  place  ?    Indeed — 
The  jest  is  really  a  merry  one — continue,  I  pray,  to  read." 
Max  takes  the  banter  laughingly,  but  rage  burns  in  his  eye, 
Thus  laughs  the  distant  welkin,  where  the  forked  lightnings  lie. 

"  To  our  well-beloved  cousin,  and  Austria's  arch-duke, 
They  say  you  mean  to  visit  us,  and  we  wish  on  you  to  look : 
We  therefore  send  this  horse  to  you,  and  hope  the  nag  will  suit, 
We  should  be  very  sorry  if  you  came  so  far  on  foot. 

"  Your  stingy  papa,7  for  your  schooling  with  his  money  would  not 

part, 
So  I'm  sending  you  schoolmasters  in  the  military  art ; 

The  noble  art  to  acquire  befits  a  knight  like  you  ; 

Honour  to  God  and  the  Virgin  !  and  till  you  arrive,  adieu  ! " 

Then  spake  the  Hapsburg's  scion :    "  You  may  enjoy  the  jeer, 
This  King  knows  how  right  deftly  to  give  a  box  on  the  ear ; 
We  are  as  a  guest  invited — then  quick,  to  horse  !  to  horse  ! 
Good  stipends  to  good  masters — in  our  education  course !" 


30  THE    EAGLE    AND     THE    LILY. 


II.     THE   CAMP. 

ORSOOTH,  a  peaceful  city  !  the  beautiful  St.  Omer; 
Here  the  young  green  of  the  meadows,  the  silver  river 

there ; 

Near  by,  a  lake  like  a  mirror,  where  emerald  islands  swim, 
Where  herds  of  cattle  drifting  crop  the  grass  at  the  water's  brim. 

The  Abbey  of  St.  Andomar  in  polish'd  marble  drest, 
Looks  like  the  Angel  of  Peace  on  the  land  that  it  has  blest. 
The  little  word,  War !  oh,  never  was  it  heard  on  her  fertile  plains, 
And  writ  in  her  cloister's  chronicle  only  half  the  word  remains. 

Here  seem'd  peace  and  content  from  the  earliest  time  to  dwell ; 
Was  ever  heard  sound  of  iron,  it  was  only  the  tinkling  bell ; 
Did  any  one  cry  for  succour,  'twas  at  most  but  a  sheep  astray, 
Was  any  one  angry,  'twas  only  a  priest  in  a  pastoral  way. 

But  now  a  vast  encampment  from  lake  to  abbey  extends, 

Where  the  warrior's  shout  outsoundeth   the   bells  with   which   it 

blends, 

Outshining  the  waves,  the  canvas  of  the  white  pavilions  gleams, 
And  the  minster  with  its  pinnacles  a  spirit  of  vengeance  seems. 


THE    CAMP.  31 

Pavilion  on  pavilion,  Max's  camp  is  standing  there, 

And  many-coloured  banners  are  flutter-ing  in  the  air  ; 

High  over  all,  the  German  Imperial  Eagle  flies, 

And  gathers  under  its  pinions  native  hearts  and  brave  allies. 

Every  race  of  Flemish  speech  in  the  varied  ranks  appears, 
Even  Albion's  archers  mingle  with  the  Austrian  cuirassiers-; 
And  many  for  whom  on  the  Ister  the  tears  of  maidens  flow, 
Divers  tongues,  and  divers  standards — one  heart,  one  head,  one  foe  ! 

Believe  me,  a  strange  encampment,  and  not  the  cradle  of  fight ! 
No  countenance  dark  or  sullen — but  every  visage  is  bright ; 
Is  it  the  wondrous  power  of  the  soil  devoted  to  peace  ? 
Of  the  tranquil  times  that  are  vanish'd,  will  the  influence   never 
cease  ? 

When  the  martial  trumpet  sounds,  it  sounds  like  the  call  to  a  dance, 
And  the  eye  of  many  a  knight,  once  bright  with  a  merry  glance, 
Is  dimm'd  with  tears,  and  he  sees  in  the  helmet  a  faded  bouquet, 
If  he  hum  a  war-song  it  changeth  forthwith  to  a  bridal  lay. 

And  Max  himself  when  he  wander'd  through  the  camp  in  musing 

mood, 
Look'd  askance  as  if  at  his  elbow  another  figure  stood  ; 


32  THE    EAGLE    AND     THE    LILY. 

Words  to  his  lips  came  often  when  sole  and  apart  he  roved, 
And   once,  when   his   fool  .was  beside   him,  he  murmur'd,  "  My 
beloved ! " 

And  when  in  his  pavilion  he  rests  in  arms  at  night, 
And  thinks  to  see  a  vision  of  burning,  blood,  and  fight, — 
Approaches  a  glorified  being,  and  seems  by  him  to  stand, 
And  the  green  palms  of  peace  waves  over  him  with  white  hand. 


III.    THE    DUEL. 

VERY  morning  when  the  sun  through  the  clouds  broke 

golden-red, 

And  the  glow  of  purple  roses  on  tower  and  hill-top  shed, 
On  the  field  of  the  encampment  where  the  German  army  lay, 
From  tent  to  tent,  well-mounted,  a  French  knight  spurr'd  his  way. 

He  twisted  his  mustachio  with  a  sneer  of  scornful  pride, 

At  every  tent  he  halted,  and  smote  his  shield  and  cried, 

"  Come  out,  some  gallant  German,  who  will  his  manhood  prove, 

To  the  honour  of  his  country,  and  the  honour  of  his  love." 


THE    DUEL.  33 

They  let  him  carry  it  on  so — such  is  not  the  German  way  ! 

They  stay'd  in  their  tents  pretending  riot  to  hear  what  he  had  to 

say : 

Then  in  haughty  self-sufficiency,  away  the  mad  knight  sprang, 
And  his  yell  of  scorn  in  the  distance  like  a  thousand  devils  rang. 

And  again  flamed  in  the  Orient  the  purple  light  of  morn, 
And  again  the  earth  rejoicing,  a  golden  day  was  born  ; 
And  again  the  Frenchman  starting  on  his  diurnal  tramp, 
Clad  cap-a-pie  in  armour  made  the  circuit  of  the  camp. 

A  red  plume  waved  defiantly  over  his  haughty  head, 

The  feathers  that  floated  over  the  front  of  his  horse  were  red, 

Over  his  stalwart  shoulders  a  red  war-cloak  he  wore, 

And  a  purple-red  caparison  his  snorting  charger  bore. 

He  wore  a  scarf  of  scarlet,  as  red  'as  the  blood  of  youth, 
The  colour  himself  had  chosen  and  it  suited  him  well,  forsooth ; 
Far  into  France  from  the  sea-side,  the  land  with  his  fame  had  rung, 
And  as  "  the  mighty  Cut-throat "  he  was  known  by  old  and  young. 

And  his  bearded  lip  he  twisted  again  with  scornful  pride, 
Look'd  on  the  German  quarters,  and  rapp'd  his  shield  and  cried : 
"  Come  out,  some  valiant  German,  who  in  arms  with  me  will  stand 
For  the  honour  of  his  lady,  for  the  honour  of  his  land." 

F 


34  THE    EAGLE    AND     THE    LILY. 

Like  the  full  moon,  when  suddenly  from  a  cloud  it  issues  bright, 

On  a  swift  palfry  riding,  appear'd  a  gallant  knight ; 

The  gallant  knight  in  a  vizor  his  countenance  had  mask'd, 

"  Who  is  he  ? "  in  astonishment,  both  French  and  Germans  ask'd. 

Over  his  helmet  floating  no  graceful  feather  streams, 

Upon  his  shining  hanger  a  singld  gold  star  gleams  : 

Is  it  Love's  purple  planet,  that,  alas  !  so  soon  declines, 

Is  it  Hope's  star,  pale  and  tranquil,  that  ever  smiling  shines  ? 

There  flows  over  his  shoulders  no  jaunty  martial  vest, 

Rough  is  the  iron  harness  that  sheathes  his  manly  breast ; 

A  scarf  of  silk  and  silver  athwart  his  breast-plate  sways, 

Where  is  writ  in  golden  letters,  "  God's  be  the  glory  and  praise  ! " 

As  if  he  might  be  vanquish'd,  rides  modestly  the  knight, 
Yet  all  may  see  his  purpose  is  to  conquer  in  the  fight ; 
No  gold  and  no  embossment  on  his  iron  buckler  weighs, 
Yet  flames  in  his  heart  right  loyally  "  God's   be  the  glory  and 
.    praise  ! " 

Now  German  crowds  and  Flemish  the  combatants  surround, 
Now  flutter  all  the  banners  and  all  the  trumpets  sound  ; 
Then  met  in  fierce  encounter,  each  on  the  other  springs, 
Then  dash  the  shields  together,  and  spear  on  hauberk  rings. 


THE    DUEL.  35 

Behold,  the  spears  are  splintered  !    See,  sword  on  sword  descend  ! 
Now,  thinks  the  Gallic  Cut-throat,  the  struggle  soon  must  end ; 
Under  the  blows  of  his  good  sword  crack'd  many  an  iron  band, 
Till  burst  the  helm  of  his  enemy  and  tumbled  in  the  sand. 

See  down  his  neck  unrolling  his  hair  in  a  golden  stream  ; 
Blue  as  the  dome  of  heaven  two  clear  eyes  smiling  beam  ; 
There  glances  also  a  sunlight  so  blinding  in  its  rays, 
That  of  such  a  sun  the  Frenchman  cannot  endure  the  blaze. 

He  starts  and  stares  aghast,  while  the  sword  drops  from  his  hand, 
As  if  he  saw  an  Avenger  come  from  the  spirit  land  : 
But  the  German  sword  descending  its  mighty  blows  resound, ' 
His  senses  swim,  the  Cut-throat  falls  staggering  to  the  ground. 

• 

Then  exultingly  the  Germans  raise  the  shout  from  man  to  man, 
"  Hail,  angel  of  German  vengeance  !    Hail,  Maximilian  ! " 
But  the  weapon  stain'd  with  bloodshed  he  gladly  tosses  away, 
And  crying,  "  To  God  be  the  glory !"  sinks  on  his  knee  to  pray. 


36  THE    EAGLE    AND     THE    LILY. 


IV.     THE   DECISION. 

(7  August,  1479.) 

\ 

HERE   is  a  Northland  country,  where  for  months  the 

twilight  lies ; 

Where  day  and  night  together  divide  the  dusky  skies ; 
It  is  both,  and  yet  is  neither — with  this  war  jn  the  same  way, 
Two  armies  are  defeated,  and  neither  wins  the  day. 

And  if  all  the  dead  it  slaughter'd  were  in  one  coffin  laid, 
Fell  its  woods, and  such  a  coffin  from  Ardennes  could  not  be  made; 
Could  you  gather  in  one  ocean  all  the  tears  it  caused  to  flow, 
There  Love  the  inconsolable  might  haply  drown  his  woe. 

See  you  yon  shining  ramparts  ?    Peal  on  peal  the  thunder  cracks. 

Those  are  the  walls  of  Terouenne,  and  the  batteries  of  Max: 

And  see  you  the  shine  of  weapons,  that   gleam  where  the  distant 

blue  is  ? 
There  Crevecceur  is  commanding  the  veteran  troops  of  Louis. 


THE    DECISION.  37 

Before  the  walls  of  Terouenne  there  lies  a  verdant  lea, 
Reaching  as  far  as  Guinegate,  and  level  as  the  sea ; 
There  rides  Max  deeply  pondering,  his  eye  sweeps  swift  around, 
"  Wide  enough  for  defeat  and  triumph  !    A  noble  battle-ground  ! 

"  I  can  fancy  myself  a  grave-digger  in  these  death-dealing  days  ; 
For  before  the  fight  the  general,  who  the  field  of  fight  surveys, 
And  the  sexton  when  he  shovels,  have  the  same  thought  in  their 

head ; 
'  I  must  see  if  there  is  room  enough  for  burying  my  dead.' 

"  Yet  see  there  France's  banners  in  the  distant  azure  blow, 
Up !  let  us  sound  the  onset,  and  quick  engage  the  foe : 
Why  here  in  dull  entrenchments  shall  we  sit  before  the  walls, 
When  there  to  wreaths  of  victory  the  voice  of  Glory  calls  ?" 

Max  bends  in  supplication,  the  embattled  warriors  kneel, 
The  glow  of  a  golden  sunlight  breaks  on  their  coats  of  steel ; 
Like  the  beams  from   man's  heart  springing,  when  stricken  by 
Faith's  rod, 

Like  the  beams  of  grace  descending  from  the  guardian  eye  of  God. 
| 

The  beating  of  drums  and  the  war-cries !     Then  army  on  army 

rush, 
And  mighty  indeed  is  the  meeting,  as  when  mountains  on  mountains 

crush : 


38  THE    EAGLE    AND    THE    LILY. 

Pale  Death  shouted :  "  Bravo !  bravo ! "  and  outrang  the  prophetic 

chorus 
Of  the  swarthy  ravens  singing,  "  Thanks !  thanks !  for  the  feast 

before  us!" 

There  the  roar  of  thundering  mortars,  here  the  hiss  of  bullets  flying, 
Here  the  shouts  of  drunken  victors,  there  the  groans  of  warriors 

dying, 

Gnashing  teeth  and  imprecations  and  the  broken  voice  of  prayer, 
Here   Crevecceur,   "  Forward,    dastards  ! "    and   Max,   "  Stand, 

brothers/'  there ! 

And  all  again  is  quiet !    Clouds  of  dust  in  eddies  blow, 
We  hear  the  clash  of  weapons,  but  no  one  sees  his  foe : 
Save  where  a  gust  of  wind  of  the  slaughter'd  gives  a  glance, 
And  shows  to  the  victors'  enemy  where  the  hearts  of  the  victors 
dance. 

The  other  side  waves  and  totters,  the  French  ranks  Jjreak   and 

yield, 

Already  shouts  the  German,  "  Ours  is  the  battle-field  !" 
The  might  of  France  is  crumbled,  her  hosts  disorder'd  fly, 
And  with  the  gather'd  lily  the  eagle  seeks  the  sky. 


THE    DECISION.  39 

Max  thinks  when  he  rides  at  evening  through  the.  devastated  plain, 
"  Is  not  the  battle  a  tempest  that  scatters  death  in  its  train  ? 
There's  a  rush  of  two  clouds  together,  there's  lightning  and  thunder 

and  sleet, 
The  hail  rustles  down  with  havoc,  and  the  fields  stand  reft  of  their 

wheat. 

"  It  may  be  clear'd  and  brighten'd,  the  sky's  celestial  blue, 
There  may  shimmer  on  the  foliage  a  fresher  diamond  dew ; 
Peace  in  the  brightest  colours  her  bow  in  the  heavens  may  form, 
But  she  cannot  revive  the  harvest  that  perish'd  in  the  storm." 


V.     VOICES. 

|N  the  market-place  of  Ghent  are  the  captured  flags  dis- 

play'd, 

Under  triumphal  arches  rides  the  dashing  cavalcade  ; 
Before  the  royal  palace  the  pageant  train  defiles, 
In  the  midst  a  handsome  warrior  on  a  blooming  infant  smiles. 


40  THE    EAGLE    AND     THE    LILY. 

His  spring-flowers  to  the  gardener  do  not  give  so  much  delight, 
As  to  the  happy  father  the  infant's  visage  bright ; 
As  she  seeks  her  virgin  image  in  the  eye  of  her  nursling  boy, 
And  in  that  clear  fount  finds  it, — the  mother  is  rapt  with  joy ! 

Oh,  Max,  how  bright  the  sunshine  of  fortune  and  renown ! 
Thy  child  hangs  on  thy  lips8  and  thy  head  wears  the  laurel  crown  ; 
Many  true  friends  surround  thee,  the  loved  one  leans  on  thy  breast, 
Whom  does  the  sun  in  his  circuit  behold  more  richly  blest  ? 

Triumphal  feasts  and  jubilees  are  held  on  every  hand, 
And  paeans  ring  from  the  centre  to  the  borders  of  the  land — 
In  the  castles  and  the  cities — through  Hainault  and  Burgundy, 
Behold  the  lilies  trampled,  the  eagle  flutters  free ! 

Then  mutters  France's  Louis  half  laughing  at  his  jibe, — 

"  This  eagle's  a  bird  of  passage,  of  a  very  special  tribe  ; 

For  while  the  storks  and  swallows  return  to  their  homes  in  spring, 

The  eagle  remains  till  autumn  abroad  upon  the  wing." 

And  Max  in  Ghent  at  the  banquet  says  in  a  merry  way, 

"  What  wonder,  that,  in  autumn,  when  the  sunshine  makes  short  stay, 

The  roses  and  carnations  and  tulips  lose  their  glow  ? 

It  is  natural  enough  then  that  the  lilies  should  not  blow." 


Hobe's 


I.     THE    HERON   CHASE. 

HEN    spring  again   encircles   the  earth  in  her  genial 

embrace, 
There  rides  from  the  gates  of  Bruges  a  party  for  the 

chase ; 

Full  many  handsome  falconers  on  shapely  coursers  ride, 
And  withal  the  beautiful  duchess  by  her  loving  husband's  side. 

On  her  arm  there  sat  a  falcon.     From  the  whiteness  of  his  vest 
At  court  they  gave  him  the  title  of  Dominican  in  jest : 
His  head  a  black  hood  covered,  a  silver  collar  he  wore, 
Which  the  inscription  "  Upwards,"  in  golden  letters  bore. 

G 


42.  LOVE'S    PARTING. 

A  desolate  heath  outstretches,  of  bloom  and  verdure  bare, 
Where  only  thorn  bushes  flourish,  in  patches  here  and  there  : 
On  the  left  the  bath  of  the  herons,  a  little  fish-pond,  lay, 
And  here  they  wash  their  plumage,  and  thus  their  haunt  betray. 

There's  a  rush  into  the  water,  and  a  scream  from  the  crackling  reeds, 
And  a  flight  of  frightened  herons  to  the  right  and  left  succeeds, 
The  vigorous  falcons  circling  from  the  wrists  of  the  hunters  fly, 
And  mount,  as  the  thoughts  of  man  mount,  to  the  azure  of  the  sky. 

And  the  eye  of  every  hunter  follows  his  falcon's  flight, 

As  in  its  aerial  circles  it  sweeps  to  the  left  and  the  right ; 

Alertly  in  all  directions  the  eager  hunters  move, 

The  earth  beneath  them  trembles,  clouds  of  dust  are  whirled  above. 

But  see  with  mane  all  streaming  there  runs  a  riderless  horse, 

How  it  snorts !  how  with  fright  it  quivers !  how  it  springs  on  its 

tangled  course! 
Hold  on  !   Seize  the  reins  of  the  runaway  !    How  and  where  fell  the 

rider  ?    Alas ! 
There  lies  the  beautiful  duchess — and  there  is  the  blood  stain'd 

grass ! 

She  leans  her  pallid  countenance  upon  her  husband's  breast, 

As  white  as  the  evening  cloud  is  when  the  last  flush  fades  in  the  west ; 


THE    HERON    CHASE.  43 

Ah  !  how  from  life's  genial  sources  the  precious  red  streams  start ! 
Alas  !  how  richly  blossoms  the  crimson  rose  of  her  heart ! 

A  pair  of  weeping  children,10a  sister  and  a  brother, 
Bend  like  twin  angels,  tenderly,  over  the  pale,  dead  mother ; 
So  bend  twin  dewy  rosebuds  on  the  same  parent  spray, 
Over  the  mother  flower  that  storm-stricken  fades  away  ! 

His  head  downcast  in  sadness,  where  her  blood  the  green  turf  stains, 
By  her  side  the  white  Dominican  with  mournful  look  remains ; 
Would  you  know  his  little  motto  ?  he  had  been  her  own  apt  scholar, 
"  Upwards  !"  in  golden  letters  still  gleams  upon  his  collar. 


II.    CONJURATION. 

HE  night  is  dark  and  starless,  the  hour  is  waxing  late, 
When  the  janitor  at    Spannheim    opens    the    cloister 

gate ; 

And  a  man,  in  a  cloak  enveloped,  the  threshold  "passes  o'er, 
Treads  through  the  crossways  silently,  and  knocks  at  the  abbot's 
door. 


44  LOVE'S    PARTING. 

In  whatever  place  Sir  Trittheim,11  the  abbot,  might  appear, 
The  laity  uncover'd  their  heads  in  reverend  fear ; 
Before  him  in  mute  obeisance  the  ancient  doctors  bow'd, 
And  beneath  the  monkish  habit  full  many  a  heart  beat  loud. 

Immersed  in  prayer,  the  holy  man  was  burning  the  midnight  oil, 
And  reading  in  books  of  wisdom,  and  working  in  studious  toil ; 
When  his  cell  the  stranger  enter'd,  whose  step  the  silence  broke, 
Young  in  form  but  grey  in  sorrows,  and  thus  the  stranger  spoke  : 

"  Most  reverend  sir,  a  monarch  in  tears  before  you  stands, 
But  lately  rich  in  love  as  in  honours  and  in  lands, 
Yet  now  for  ever  vassal !     Grief  is  his  paramount  lord, 
Heavy  rests  on  head  and  shoulders  the  tyrant's  hand  abhorr'd. 

"  The  crown  remains  mine  only ;  with  love,  alas  !  I  part, 
And  the  sharp  spikes  of  the  diadem  now  penetrate  my  heart ; 
There  in  the  world  of  spirits,  you  wander  a  friendly  guest, 
Oh,  father,  then  call  my  loved  one  down  from  the  home  of  the 
blest!" 

With  sympathy  and  compassion  the  eye  of  the  abbot  glows, 
His  sable  beard  luxuriantly  over  his  vestment  flows, 


CONJURATION.  45 

He  rises  full  of  dignity,  with  an  aspect  of  command, 
Surveys  his  guest  intently  and  takes  him  by  the  hand. 

Through  the  still  walks  of  the  cloisters,  where  Echo  only  wakes, — 
Out  in  the  night — the  stranger  his  course  with  the  abbot  takes  ; 
Like  a  pilgrim  in  the  catacombs  who  wanders  from  his  way, 
Damp  airs  his  torch  extinguish — he  wanders  in  dismay. 

In  sombre  shrouds  the  mountains  invest  their  giant  forms, 
Like  an  old  witch  bewailing,  the  North  Wind  shrieks  and  storms ; 
There's  a  roar  of  billows  and  branches  which  yet  no  eye  can  -see, 
And  many  a  deer  all  bloody  bounds  back  from  the  old  oak-tree. 

And  now  they  both  stand  silent.     The  abbot  kneels  to  pray, 

» 

There's  a  flame  in  the  heavens  a  moment,  and  it  instantly  dies 

away ; 

And  lo !  in  the  ebon  background  of  the  moonless,  starless  night, 
Two  lustrous  sceptres  sparkle  with  a  blaze  of  golden  light. 

"  Creation  and  Destruction !     My  prince,  your  choice  I  crave, 
On  golden  shafts  uplifted — here  life  and  there  the  grave ! 
With  that  his  human  kindred  the  wise  man  wisely  rules, 
While  this  to  lash  their  people  is  a  scourge  in  the  hand  of  fools. 


46  LOVE'S    PARTING. 

"A  simple  staff  one  shineth — which  mortal  weakness  props; 
The  other  is  sharp  as  a  dagger,  and  its  rubies  are  blood-drops; 
What  seem  pure  liquid  diamonds  are  only  petrified  tears, 
While  deeply  impressed  on  the  handle  the  grip  of  a  tyrant  appears. 

"  In  the  soil  where  the  seeds  of  the  ages  ripen  to  blossom  and  fruit, 
This  may  serve  as  a  pillar  of  shame,  a  trunk  from  a  wither'd  root ; 
The  other  is  green  as  a  palm-tree,  exempt  from  meridian  glows, 
With  a  crown  of  the  richest  foliage,  whereunder  you  softly  repose." 

Thus  speaks  the  austere  abbot.     The  sceptres  fade  away, 
And  for  a  moment  the  darkness  holds  undivided  sway ; 
When  a  star  uprises  suddenly,  it  is  very  large  and  light, 
And  from  its  depth  a  countenance  smiles  radiantly  bright. 

• 
"  Behold  !  serene  and  tearless,  she  shines  upon  the  earth, 

With  pain  and  tears  she  parted  at  her  celestial  birth  : 

As  the  white  rose  and  the  cypress  in  funeral  beauty  bloom, 

While  smiling  from  the  heavens  she  looks  upon  her  tomb. 

"  A  great  work  rests  upon  thee !    The  ruler's  career  is  to  do ! 
From  deeds  erect  her  monument !    Forthwith  thy  mission  pursue ! 
To  lift  its  glance  to  the  sun  can  an  eye  wet  with  weeping  dare  ? 
Can  a  hand  that  trembles  or  falters  with  honour  the  sceptre  bear  ? 


CON  JURA  TION.  47 

"  To  mitigate  your  sorrows,  to  strengthen  you  for  duty, 

To  kindle  a  noble  ardour  for  works  of  worth  and  beauty, 

These  are  the  spells  and  charms  with  which  God  doth  the  priest 

invest, 
Be  strong,  my  prince,  be  prudent,  and  thy  empire  will  be  blest" 

Thus  solemnly  the  priest ;  the  prince  received  the  council  well, 
Press'd  his  hand,  and  into  the  darkness  pass'd  from  the  abbot's 

cell. 

He  reached  the  crown  thereafter,  and  who  has  better  worn  it  ? 
He  boldly  grasp'd  the  sceptre,  and  who  has  better  borne  it  ? 

The  flowers  all  weep  and  glisten  in  the  flush  of  early  morn, 

The   fountains   gush   when   the   garlands   of  spring   their   banks 

adorn ; 

And  Max,  ever  thereafter,  in  his  days  of  power  and  fame, 
Cover'd  his  eyes  and  his  tears  at  the  whisper  of  Mary's  name. 


anti 


I.    THE    AWAKING. 

royal  lion  slumbering,  mute  on  a  tombstone  lay, 
Gaily  frisking  about  him  the  mice  held  holiday ; 
But  softly,  ye  merry  companions,  or  you'll  find  your- 
selves in  the  wrong, 
Pray  do  not  venture  too  boldly,  for  lions  do  not  sleep  long. 

Even  lions  are  weak  in  slumber — so  lion,  sleep  no  more ; 
From  the  woods  of  Ardennes12  already  snorts  the  ferocious  boar ; 
Who  tramples  thy  blooming  gardens,  and  thy  fruitful  harvest  husks, 
And  on  the  trunks  of  the  poplars  sharpens  his  bloody  tusks. 

Wake  !  do  you  not  wake  from  your  slumber  at  the  sound  of  Roland's 

bell?13 
Hark  !  how  at  Ghent  it  threatens — and  wakes  Liege  and  Bruges 

as  well  ! 


THE    A  WAKING.  49 

Tis  the  signal  of  fire — Rebellion  is  kindling  throughout  the  land, 
And  the  spark  by  the  treacherous  Frenchman  to  a  raging  flame 
is  fann'd.14 

Wake  up,  O  Max !  rush  onward  and  a  bloody  harvest  reap, 
If  French  craft  and  Flemish  treason  fail  to  rouse  thee  from  thy 

sleep, 

Then  bray  it  in  thine  ears  with  the  trumpet's  shrillest  sound, 
Wake  up,  thy  son  is  a  captive,  thy  son  is  a  prisoner  bound  ! ls 

Awake  is  the  royal  lion,  he  reaches  the  goal  with  a  bound ; 
How  his  mane  glows  !   Where  he  rages,  how  life  grows  pale  around  ! 
The  mighty  boar  knows  already  the  grip  of  the  lion  is  sure, 
And  will  with  his  own  black  blood  the  crops  of  the  field  manure. 

So  loud,  Ghent,  as  the  mortars,  thy  Roland  thunders  not, 
Thou  hast  thrust  thy  fingers,  Frenchman,  in  a  bonfire  flaming  hot, 
And,  mutinous  men  of  Flanders  !  the  eagle  your  fury  mocks, 
And  has  borne  his  young  through  the  tempest  to  his  eyrie  on  the 
rocks ! 


50  MAX    AND    FLANDERS. 


II.     MAX  BEFORE   DENDERMONDE.. 

a  smiling  aspect,  Dendermond'  salutes  the  traveller's 
eyes, 

When  bathed  in  evening  sunshine  the  stately  fortress  lies, 
On  thee,  Max,  it  looks  frowningly,  for  Rebellion  rules  the  hour. 
And  plants  her  lawless  standard  on  battlement  and  tower. 

The  Abbot  of  Dendermonde  sat  with  his  monks  to  dine, 
And  glass  on  glass  he  emptied  of  the  precious  cloister  wine ; 
"  Now  brothers  in  Christ,  surgamus !  sit  not  in  idle  talk, 
It  behoves  us  to  be  industrious,  so  let  us  go  out  for  a  walk." 

In  Dendermond'  the  Abbess,  and  her  nuns  in  rapt  devotion 
Read  the  legend  of  St.  Abelard,  with  the  tenderest  emotion  ; 
"  Let  us  sing,  this  pleasant  evening,  abroad  in  the  open  air, — 
To  interrupt  our  psalmody,  no  dogs  are  howling  there." 

The  nuns  then,  and  the  friars  with  breviaries  and  beads, 
Saunter  out  by  the  town-gates  into  the  verdant  meads  ; 
"  O  Christ!"  the  nuns  are  singing,  "thou  bridegroom  true  and  tried!" 
The  monks  are  sighing,  "  Mary,  O  come  thou  charming  bride!" 


MAX    BEFORE    DEN  DERMO-NDE-.  51 

And  as  two  and  two  together  through  the  greenwood  took  their  way," 
Came  a   rustling   in   the  branches    and  a   voice   like   thunder — 

"Stay!" 

Then  through  the  tangled  thicket  a  band  of  warriors  break, 
The  cheeks  of  the  nuns  grow  paler,  and  the  knees  of  the  friars  shake. 

Impetuous  through  the  brushwood  plunges  a  panting  horse, 

Its  rider  of  gallant  bearing,  in  the  midst  of  a  mailed  force, 

He   cries,   "  In  God's  name,  welcome — you  have  wander'd  out  of 

your  way, 
God  bless  you,  Lady  Abbess,  Sir  Abbot  too,  good  day  !" 

"  Max  of  Austria  salutes  you.     I  myself  am  in-  the  field, 
But  for  your  accommodation  my  tents  I'll  gladly  yield, 
Indeed,  I  keep  spare  table,  some  poor  men  keep  a  richer, — 
But  with  sundry  smoking-platters  and  many  a  brimming  pitcher. 

"  Things'  are  not  to  my  liking,  and  I  would  fain  amuse  me, 
And  your  aid  in  a  harmless  mummery  I'm  sure  you'll  not  refuse  me, 
So  I  beg  you'll  lend  us  cowls  and  hoods  and  veils,  for  an  excursion, 
In  a  sort  of  masquerading,  that  I've  plann'd  for  our  diversion." 

The  friars  wag  their  beards,  and  the  cheeks  of  the  nuns  are  a-glow, 
And  low  they  mutter  in  chorus,  "  Lord,  help  us  in  our  woe !" 


52  .  MAX    AND    FLANDERS. 

Then  Max  gives  the  word  to  his  warriors,  "  On  with  the  veil  and  the 

gown ! 
On  with  the  cowl  and  the  cassock,  and  hurry  into  the  town  !" 

"  To  fit  in  the  cowl  of  the  Abbot,  my  grey  beard  will  hardly  fail, 
And  you,  my  merry  friend,  Conrad,  shall  wear  the  Abbess's  veil ; 
The  enterprise  is  a  foolish  one,  and  therefore  in  your  way, 
God  willing,  we'll  meet  in  Dendermond'  before  the  break  of  day." 

Veil'd  and  cowl'd  they  stand  already,  nuns  and  friars  in  a  row, 
How  splendidly  round  Conrad  the  robes  of  the  Abbess  flow ! 
And  as  the  beautiful  Abbess  hung  the  veil  about  his  face, 
He  thought  as  many  another  fool  would  be  sure  to  think  in  his  place. 

Upon  the  walls  at  Dendermond'  a  sentinel  keeps  watch, 

Who  leans  on  his  spear  in  the  moonlight  and  trolls  a  merry  catch, 

"  A  monk  and  so  a  monkey,  the  jingle's  good  and  fine, 

A  monk  and  so  a  monkey,  both  love  a  wench  and  wine." 

"  Ho,  infidel,  may  the  thunder  scald  thy  polluted  throat ! 

Is  that,  forsooth,  thine  orison  ?    Shut  up  that  slanderous  note." 

Thus  the  shout  of  the  self-made  Abbot  at  Dendermond's  gateway 

rung, 
The  while  his  nuns  and  novices  in  impatient  chorus  sung. 


MAX    BEFORE    DENDERMONDE.  53 

"  Pardon,  Sir  Abbot,  but  surely  this  is  a  marvellous  case, 
The  Abbot  swears  like  a  pirate,  and  the  Abbess  speaks  in  bass." 
Thus  muttering,  half-bewilder'd,  the  watchman  shakes  his  pate, 
Then  creak  the  brazen  hinges,  and  open  stands  the  gate. 

"  Should  you  like  your  fee  for  admission?     You  sing  uncommonly 

well, 

And  a  notable  song  I'll  teach  you  ;  it  does  not  ring  clear  as  a  bell, 
But   it's  proper  and  pious,  and  instantly  carries  you  heavenward, 

ho!" 
Thus  shouted  the  Lady  Abbess,  and  followed  the  word  with  a  blow. 

Ha  !  what  a  clatter  of  swords  !     What  a  rush  in  the  crowded  street ! 
What  a  terrible  howl  of  confusion,  when  alarm-bells  the  field-cry 

meet! 

Never  struck  nuns,  it  is  certain,  such  ponderous  blows  as  to-night, 
Never  sent  monks  such  a  number  of  souls  on  their  heavenward 

flight  « 

The  trumpet  brays  at  the  gateway,  there's  a  rattle  of  drums  without, 
There's  a  tramping  and  stamping  of  horses,  and  listen  to  Max's 

shout ! 

"  Welcome  to  Dendermonde  !     Carry  your  banners  high, 
And  from  the  tops  of  the  turrets  proclaim  your  victory." 


54  MAX    AND    FLANDERS. 

In  the  morn  the  victor  summons  the  leaders  of  the  rising, 
"Welcome  ;  this  early  meeting  is  to  both  no  doubt  surprising; 
But  mark  as  a  priest  I  come  here,  not  to  avenge  my  wrongs, 
Peace  and  pardon  speak  the  office  which  to  the  priest  belongs." 


III.    A   GOOD    ENDING. 


JHY  sounds  the  blast  of  the  trumpet  ?     That  is  Frederick 

Von  Horn : 
"  My  prince,   I  have  tamed  at  its  grimmest  the  Wild 

Boar's  rage  and  scorn." 

Who  approaches  with  flying  colours  ?     Of  Nassau,  Sir  Engelbright. 
"  My  prince,  I  took  these  banners  from  the  Frenchman  in  the  fight." 

Hark  to  the  bells  with  their  chimings  that  from  the  steeples  ring, 
See  Ghent  the  keys  of  the  city  on  velvet  cushion  bring : 
Oh,  Max,  why  gladdens  thy  visage,  why  trembles  thy  vigorous  arm  ? 
Thy  son  hangs  again  on  thy  bosom,  and  clings  to  thy  lips  so  warm  ! 

Joy!  joy!     From  his  eyes  how  richly  the   fountain    of  gladness 

springs, 
How  fondly  he  kisses   the  darling,  how  fondly  he  hugs  him  and 

swings ! 


A     GOOD    ENDING.  55 

And  what  is  the  saintly  shimmer  that  on  thy  forehead  appears  ? 
Is  it  a  garland  of  pearls,  boy,  or  is  it  thy  father's  tears  ? 

"A  fool  ought  not  to  be  weeping,"— thinks  Conrad,  who  stands 

hard  by, 
"  A  fool  ought  not  to  be  weeping," — but  the  briny  drop  gleams  in 

his  eye : 

"  And  if  ever  it  happen  the  singer  tells  our  story  in  future  years, 
The  ninny'll  not  fail  in  his  ditty  for  lack  of  pathos  and  tears ! " 


GOLDEN  crown  on  the  worn-out  head  is  a  heavy  load 

for  me — 
My  strong  son,   Max,  the  burden  will  be  easier  for 

thee! 

The  sceptre  I  wield  tremblingly  will  rest  firm  in  thy  hand," — 
The  old  emperor  was  thinking  so,  and  so  thought  all  the  land. 

'Tis  Max's  coronation.     At  Aix,  in  the  minster's  nave, 
Flash  the  mitres  and  the  helmets,  the  silks  and  velvets  wave  ; 
On  his  brow  the  holy  ointment  inaugurates  his  reign, 
And  with  steady  grasp  he  handles  the  sword  of  Charlemagne. 

Behold  Cologne's  grey  bishop  before  the  altar  stand, 
Like  a  true  friend  and  cordial,  Old  Age  now  shakes  his  hand, 
Yet  firmly  and  without  trembling  he  places  the  jewelled  crown, 
He  knows  that  on  a  better  head  priest  never  set  it  dowa 


MAXIMILIAN,    ROMAN    KING.  57 

The  organ  has  ceased  its  pealing.     There  follows  a  collation, 
Where  sit  the  lords  and  princes — to  crown  the  coronation  ! 
From  urns  of  silver  gurgle  streams  of  refreshing  wine, 
And  blue  clouds  are  curling  upwards  where  the  golden  platters 
shine. 

The  Palatine  swung  the  goblet  and  rose  to  a  taunting  toast : 

«'  To  old  father  Rhine,  a  bumper  !  for  who,  my  Lords,  will  boast, 

That  he  can  show  a  jewel,  in  all  his  broad  domain, 

Which,  like  my  purple  vintage,  can  fire  the  heart  and  brain  ? " 

Then  the  princes  in  succession  praise  the  kingdom  and  the  throne, 
The  old  Emperor  praises  Austria,  and  each  one  lauds  his  own  ; 
To  the  Bishop  his  great  minster  the  world's  great  marvel  seems  ; 
And  Louis  of  Bavaria  lauds  her  meadows  and  blue  streams. 

From  Saxony,  Sir  Albert     says,  "  In  sooth,  my  treasures  shine 
As  ores  of  gold  and  iron,  in  the  dark  shafts  of  the  mine  ; 
The  gold  our  women  teaches  to  be  refined  and  pure, 
The  iron  makes  our  manhood  reliable  and  sure." 

Then  spake  the  Wurtemberger,  Count  Everhard  of  the  Beard, 
"  Such  jewels  in  my  country  have  never  yet  appear'd  ; 
But  there's  not  in  all  its  borders  a  wilderness  so  deep, 
That,  on  a  subject's  pillow  there,  I  could  not  safely  sleep." 

I 


58  MAXIMILIAN,    ROMAN    KING. 

Max  once  in  such  a  contest  would  have  had  a  word  to  say ; 
But  now  the  dark  earth  buries  all  the  brightness  of  his  day  : 
In  melancholy  silence  a  moment  lost  he  stands. 
In  his  own,  then,  gently  presses  the  Wurtemberger's  hands. 


(FEBRUARY  TO  MAY,  1488.) 

I.     THE   GUILDS. 

|HE  guild-masters  of  Bruges  sat  by  cards,  and  wine,  and 

song, 

The  sailor,  smith,  and  dyer  had  sat  there  all  day  long  ; 
And  Coppenoll,  the  cobbler,  from  Ghent,  was  present 
too; 
He  bawled  in  council  the  loudest,  and  made  the  meanest  shoe. 

The  cobbler  spake  :  "  My  masters,  know  ye  the  news  to-night  ? 
The  king  is  coming  to  Candlemas,  God  grant,  Let  there  be  light ! " 
At  this  the  dyer  stealthily  peeps  in  the  cards  of  the  smith, 
Meanwhile  of  a  fine  old  carol  he  is  merrily  humming  the  pith. 


60  THRONE    AND     TRIPOD. 

"  A  little  king  there  once  was — a  marmot,  you  may  say — 

Of  work  he  had  his  hands  full,  for  he  slept  both  night  and  day  ; 

At  night,  because  'tis  the  fashion  in  life  to  sleep  by  night, 

And  by  day  because  his  slumbers  had  fatigued  and  tired  him  quite." 

Then  spake  the  smith  : — "  This  Max  here  is  made  of  the  right  stuff; 
He  was  always  a  gallant  fellow,  and  I  like  him  well  enough  : 
But  all  the  lords  his  courtiers  with  hoofs  of  iron  prance, 
And  on  the  corns  of  the  people  they  love  to  tread  and  dance." 

With  a  sly  chuckle  the  cobbler  the  smith  on  the  shoulders  hit, 
i 

"  I  should  like  to  make  their  boots  for  them — I'd  give  them  a 

tight  fit." 

Then  the  dyer  slapped  on  the  table  and  tossed  off  his  stoup  of  wine, 
And  roar'd — "  The  King  of  Clubs,  bravo  !  the  Knave  of  Diamonds 

is  mine." 

Then  the  sailor  dash'd  in  anger  his  cards  upon  the  floor, — 

"  A  god-forsaken  life  it  is  you  people  live  on  shore  ; 

Damme !    It  always  happens  the  knave  is  trumped  by  the  king  : — " 

All  spring  up  in  confusion,  stools  tumble,  and  glasses  ring. 

Then  cried  the  smith,  "  A  sceptre,  forsooth,  is  a  sorry  thing ; 
For  me  such  work  would  not  answer,  but  'twill  do  well  enough  for 
a  king : " 


THE     GUILDS.  61 

Then  the  dyer — "At  home  there  lie  mouldering  many  red  rags  of 

my  own, 
Which,  hung  on  the  stool  of  the  cobbler,  would  make  it  as  fine  as  a 

throne." 

Stood  Coppenoll  the  cobbler,  who  gravely  shook  his  head, 
Oppressed  with  thought,  and  muttering,  thus  to  himself  he  said, — 
"  Respublica  but  recently  has  rubbed  a  hole  in  her  shoe, 
And  Master  Coppenoll  reckons  the  cobbling's  for  him  to  do. 

"  These  kings — who  gives  the  sceptre,  gentlemen,  into  their  hands  ? 
He  who  reigns  in  the  heavens.     He  also  created  their  lands. 
The  Netherlands  we  have  created,  by  our  own  labour  and  pains, 
So  the  right  of  choosing  our  master  in  our  own  hands  remains." 

"  Bravo  !  thou  gallant  master  !  thou  shalt  our  leader  be." 
So  the  others  fall  into  chorus,  and  all  shout  clamorously  ; 
Out  of  the  doors  they  tumble,  the  towers  and  steeples  gain, 
And  set  the  bells  ringing  the  tocsin,  and  howl  like  a  hurricane. 

In  the  market-place  already  the  guilds  their  banners  flaunted, 
And  all  the  guild  companions  under  them  stood  undaunted ; 
Then  first  began  in  a  whisper,  then  louder  and  louder  to  roll, 
From   the   mouth   of  the  people  and  head-men,  "  Our  leader  be 
Coppenoll ! " 


62  THRONE    AND     TRIPOD. 

In  the  streets  and  squares  there's  a  shouting,  there's  a  howl,  and  a 

roar,  and  a  rush, 

They  ply  the  hammer  and  pick-axe,  and  the  kingly  columns  crush; 
Many  the  sceptres  of  iron,  and  the  crowns  that  yield  to  their  blows, 
With  many  a  king's  wooden  noddle,  and  many  a  stony  lord's  nose. 


II.     THE   WARNING. 

IES  yet  on  the  plains  of  Flanders  the  winter's  mantle  of 

snow, 

Where  glancing  like  trimmings  of  silver,  the  lagoons  in 
the  sunshine  glow ; 

In  the  far  blue  the  pinnacles  of  Bruges  shimmer  bright, 
Like  stars  of  gold  embroider'd  on  a  mantle's  silver  white. 

Deep  buried  in  their  jerkins  a  band  of  riders  go, 

With  frost  their  beards  empearled,  through  the  crackling  fields  of 

snow ; 

By  the  side  of  King  Max  Conrad  breaks  many  a  merry  jest, 
While  his  eyes  with  the  sleet  are  weeping,  his  heart  laughs  in  his 

breast. 


THE     WARNING.  63 

The  king  with  emotion  pointed  to  the  fields  which  before  him  lay; 
"  With  what  a  voice  it  speaks  there — Behold,  what  man's  Art  may  ! 
Thou  liest  as  array'd  for  a  bridal,  oh,  Flanders,  my  lovely  land  ! 
In  a  white  robe  of  slumber,  girt  with  a  silver  band." 

Then  Conrad, — "  Yes,  yes,  truly, — like  a  faded  beauty  that ; 
There's  not  an  attractive  prominence,  but  all  is  smooth  and  flat ; 
Somewhat  loose  in  the  girdle,  dressed  up  by  night  and  day, 
And  yet  thou  findest  a  lover  !     A  proof  of  what  Art  may ! 

"  All  these  ponds  and  these  waters  may  serve  as  looking-glasses, 
(They  need  any  number  of  mirrors,  these  antiquated  lasses) — 
They're  of  small  dimensions  luckily,  and  their  shine  is  somewhat 

dull, 
Thou  wouldst  certainly  be  frighten'd,  if  thou  saw'st  thyself  in  full." 

• 

"And  in  thy  speech  thou  stammerest,  as  strangers  in  Germany 

speak, 
Their  own  tongue  they  have  forgotten,  and  in  German  they  are 

weak ; 

As  a  good  housewife,  thou  sweepest  thy  barn  and  thy  granary  oft, 
And,  in  order  not  to  soil  them,  thou  pilest  no  corn  in  the  loft. 

"  And  as  to  thy  cellar,  oh,  Murder !  like  a  washy  drinking  song, 
Where  the  wine  is  hard  to  discover,  the  water  is  so  strong ; 


64  THRONE    AND     TRIPOD. 

My  lord  and  king,  I  imagine,  you  had  better  let  her  alone ; 
They  say  that  of  him  she  embraces,  she  spares  neither  nerve  nor 
bone. 

"  Think,  now,  of  the  old  giant— the  story  you  k-now  full  well, 
And  of  what  to  him  with  the  hussy  in  Philistia  befell ; 
She  stole  from  him  in  the  night-time  his  beautiful  golden  hair ; 
It  seems  to  me,  Miss  Flandria  neither  head  nor  locks  will  spare," 

"  A  truce  to  your  evil  surmises  !"  Max  with  impatience  said  : 
"  Of  princes  who  have  sworn  fealty,  one  cannot  be  afraid  ; 
For  their  word  and  faith  like  beacons  beam  with  unfading  light, 
And  Truth  at  their  golden  portals  stands  sentry  day  and  night." 

"  No  crown  ever  pressed  my  forehead — I'm  a  bachelor  and  a  fool, 
And  little  of  such  high  knowledge  did  I  ever  learn  at  school ; 
But,  in  sooth,  I  think  it  much  better  to  be  a  fool  on  the  wing, 
Than  to  be  a  wise  man  in  prison,  though  the  wise  man  were  a  king. 

"  Item,  remember,  the  proverb  that  I'm  sure  you've  often  heard, — 
Let  the  continence  of  a  friar  with  the  sense  of  a  lover  be  stirr'd, 
Mix  in  a  youngster's  modesty,  with  a  sauce  of  Flemish  truth, 
Give  the  whole  to  a  mite  for  his  breakfast,  and  you'll  sharpen  his 
hungry  tooth. 


THE     WARNING.  65 

"  Indeed  I  do  not  much  fancy  your  comrade  in  jail  to  be, 
Therefore,  my  farewell  I  tender — but  think  of  my  warning  and  me ; 
Prithee,  Max,  to  truth's  voice  listen,  before  it  shall  be  too  late, 
As  once  again  I  implore  you  not  to  enter  Bruges'  gate." 

So  speaks  the  Von  der  Rosen.     Max  sternly  shakes  his  heao. 
Though  as  the  gate  he  enters,  he  thrills  with  a  secret  dread  ; 
But  the  presage  he  quickly  suppresses,  and  enters  the  palace  of  state, 
While  Conrad  is  off  at  a  tangent,  and  out  by  another  gate. 


III.    THE    KRANENBURG. 

IR  COPPENOLL  in  the  council  house  till  his  fingers  were 

tired  wrote, 

Then  said  to  his  boy  in  waiting,  "  Come,  comrade,  take 
this  note 

To  Mister  Maximilian,  take  it  with  my  salute": 
The  lad  receives  the  missive,  and  bows  in  reverence  mute. 

K 


66  THRONE    AND     TRIPOD. 

"  Since  two  suns  in  the  firmament  cannot  together  shine, 

And  when  one  reaches  the  zenith,  the  other  must  needs  decline, 

And,  as  when  the  eagle's  at  liberty,  he  will  rob  as  eagles  do, 

Therefore  the  people  of  Bruges  have  furnish'd  a  cage  for  you." 

i 

This  was  the  text  of  the  letter  which  Max  now  laughing  read, 
On  which,  display'd  like  a  crawfish,  the  seal  of  the  guilds  was  spread, 
And  Coppenoll's  name  thereunder  in  crooked  flourishes  stands, 
By  dingy  clouds  surrounded,  the  marks  of  the  cobbler's  hands. 

"We're  now  in  the  midst  of  the  Carnival,  so  I  enjoy  your  joke" — 
Thus  spake  Max  to  the  messenger,  and  thus  aside  he  spoke  ; 
"  Place  in  your  heavens  no  lamplight,  for  in  sooth  I'll  not  engage 
That  the  eagle  you  hold  captive  does  not  break  the  bars  of  his  cage." 

Thence  went  he  to  the  Kranenburg,  a  prison  for  the  nonce, 
Though  here  the  root.0,  of  the  Orient  a  shopman.vended  once, 
Here  amber  and  myrrh  and  balsam  their  perfumes  still  dispense, 
And  the  young  king  learns  to  value  the  odour  of  frankincense. 

Now  the  people  reign  at  Bruges.     The  trades  are  at  a  stand. 
The  tanner  gives  to  governing  the  days  when  once  he  tann'd. 
The  shopkeeper  wields  the  sceptre  who  once  the  yardstick  bore— 
The  sexton  only  shovels  and  does  business  as  before. 


THE     TRUE     SERVANT.  67 


IV.     THE    TRUE    SERVANT. 

URIED  once  in  meditation  Max  paced  his  prison  floor, 
When,  with  gentle  step  approaching,  some  one  knock'd 

upon  the  door ; 

His  face  in  a  brown  cowl  muffled,  his  back  bow'd  down  and  crook'd, 
A  monk  stood  in  the  chamber,  and  about  with  caution  look'd. 

"  God  is  a  grinder  of  eye-glasses,  he  has  glasses  white  and  clear, 
We  men  are  the  buyers,  to  one  of  us  the  glasses  seem  dull  and  blear, 
Another  they  nip  in  the  nose,  to  the  third  they  are  just  the  thing, 
I  fancy  I'll  suit  you  exactly,  for  Hope's  green  glasses  I  bring." 

"Make  it  short, good  father — but,  hark  ye,  and  pardon  the  suggestion, 
This  cowl  suits  your  rogue's  visage — it  don't  admit  of  question — 
As  smiling  spring  suits  winter,  as  laughing  suits  with  crying, 
Like  a  rose  of  the  fullest  blossom  in  the  fringe  of  a  priest's  hood 
lying." 

"  You  divine  your  Von  der  Rosen,  my  dearest  Max,  is  here — 
Your  Conrad  to  deliver  you  in  monkish  garb  stands  near  ; — " 
"  Welcome,  my  lad,  thrice  welcome,  your  heart  with  true  blood  swells, 
But  tell  me  why  for  a  cowl  you  have  left  the  cap  and  bells  ?" 


68  THRONE    AND     TRIPOD. 

Then  to  the  neck  of  his  monarch  the  joyful  Pater  flies, 

His   breast   heaves   with  emotion,  and   the   tears   pour  from   his 

eyes ; 

But  his  visage  fresh  and  frolicksome  in  the  hood  of  the  friar  glows, 
As  from  the  dark  earth  smiling  peeps  the  red  Alpine  rose. 

What  wonder  ?    A  fool  and  a  friar  ? — they're  certainly  made  to 

match  ; 

If  any  thing  tickles  a  friar,  a  fool  will  be  sure  to  scratch  ; 
They  drink  from  a  single  goblet,  and  sit  on  a  single  stool, 
And  now  you  must  follow  the  friar,  since  you  would  not  follow 

the  fool. 

"  I  come  to  give  you  freedom.    Through  the  darkness  and  the  cold 

I  swam  the  moat,  whose  waters  these  prison  walls  enfold  ; 

The  swans  flapped  their  wings  with  a  screeching  that  could  not  have 

been  greater, 
If  every  mother's  son  of  them  had.  been  .a  Flemish  traitor. 

"  In  the  convent  of  St.  Francis  I  parley'd  with  the  prior, 
Whose  healths  to  your  honour  daily  half  a  keg  of  wine  require, 
And  he  sent  you  this  cloak  as  a  present,  with  his  greeting  and 

blessing,  of  course, 
And  besides  a  saddled  Frater,  and  a  psalmody  singing  horse. 


THE    TRUE    SERVANT.  69 

"  To  the  emperor  at  Middleburg  now  ride  without  delay, 
Thence  he  sent  me  with  this  letter,  and  I  lagged  not  on  the  way  ; 
His  army  to  your  deliverance  impetuously  fly, 
And  now  Bavaria,  Brandenburg,  and  Saxony  are  nigh. 

"  We'll  exchange  our  coats  and  dignities, — I'll  shave  your  head  quite 

bare, 

And,  instead  of  a  golden  diadem,  you'll  take  the  crown  of  hair ; 
How  the  Flemings  will  be  dumbfoundered,  and  how  I  will  wriggle 

with  laughter, 
When  they  find  the  fool  in  the  place  of  the  king  they  are  looking 

after!" 

Then  spoke  the  king,  touch'd  deeply :    "  Mark  thee,  my  trusty  lad, 
From  hence  be  sure  I  budge  not.     Thy  plan's,  in  sooth,  not  bad ; 
But  think'st  thou  such  masquerading  becomes  the  head  of  a  realm  ? 
No  !  Prudence  must  spread  his  canvas,  and  Piety  guide  his  helm." 

"  Softly,  my  dear  king,  softly.    'I've  a  story  in  point,  I  think ; 
One  day  Prudence  and  Piety  enter'd  a  tavern  to  drink ; 
Piety  very  politely  brimmed  two  glasses  high, 
But  Prudence,  the  sly-boots,  quietly  suck'd  both  glasses  dry. 

"  My  king,  you  are  quite  too  pious  for  all  this  Flemish  concern ; 
Come,  take  the  cowl, — I  wager  it  will  serve  you  no  ill  turn : 


70  THRONE    AND    TRIPOD. 

Quick,  brother  Maximilian,  or  you'll  stay  to  do  much  worse ; 
Up,  up  !  my  bold  Franciscan  :  come  on — to  Horse  !  to  Horse!" 

"  Fellow,  your  breath  you  are  wasting,"  thus  Max  cried  out  at  last  ; 
"  The  word  that  I  once  have  spoken  like  the  rock  stands  firm  and 

fast; 

I've  sworn  an  oath  to  remain  here,  it  is  a  monarch's  oath,— T 
Farewell,  farewell — deliverance  is  near  at  hand  for  both." 

Conrad  besought  imploringly,  but  he  besought  in  vain, 
Whereon  he  screw'd  his  lips  up  in  a  serio-comic  strain ; 
And  between  his  teeth  he  mutter'd  :  "  I'  faith,  I  still  may  sing, 
They  will  only  find  a  fool  here — when  they  come  to  look  for  a  king !" 


V.     SPRING'S   MESSAGE. 

AX  look'd  through  the  grates  of  his  window,  look'd  over 

the  walls  and  the  towers, 
Where  again  the  Spring  was  bedecking  the  fields  with  its 


green  and  its  flowers, 

When  a  free  little  bird  familiarly  seated  himself  on  the  sill, 
And  look'd  on  the  captive  monarch,  and  warbled  a  lively  trill. 


SPRING'S    MESSAGE.  71 

"  Thou  seest  something  shine  in  the  distance,  and  what  may  the 
shining  be  ? 

It  is  not  Spring's  flowers  and  blossoms,  but  it's  no  less  welcome  to 
thee : 

It  is  banners  and  helmets  !  Thy  father,  approaching  with  vengeance 
swift, 

Brings  them  with  him  from  far  to  Flanders,  to  serve  as  a  spring- 
time gift." 

• 

"  And  what  is  it  there  uprises,  like  stalks  of  wheat  from  the  plain  ? 
Spring  surely  does  not  display  there  her  golden  spires  of  grain  ; 
Those  stalks  are  spears,  and  their  blossoms  with  the  promise  of 

blood  are  red, 
On  every  spike  that  shines  there,  hangs  a  harvest  of  the  dead." 

But  the  captive  king  divined  not  if  the  song  was  the  song  of  the  bird, 

Or  if  from  his  heart  it  sounded,  the  melody  he  heard ; 

Yet  as  a  garland  of  roses  falls  on  the  dusky  tomb, 

So  peace  and  rest  descended  to  light  his  prison's  gloom. 

Now  storms  down  the  stairs  of  the  tower,  into  the  market  place, 
Where  the  guilds  stand  all  collected,  Sir  Coppenoll,  white  in  the  face ; 
The  tower-keeper  after  him  bawling,— "  All  who  have  legs  now  flee! 
Countless  as  flies  in  summer  come  the  forces  of  Germany." 


72  THRONE    AND    TRIPOD. 

11  They're  not  a  mile  off,  arid  are  monsters  that  would  make  the 

bravest  shudder, 

And  all  have  legs  like  a  horse's,  and  swords  as  broad  as  a  rudder, 
And  beards  like  a  fir-tree's  branches,  and  for  us  brings  every  man, 
Oh,  murder  !  a  great  tall  gallows — so  scamper  ye  all  who  can." 

Then  ran  the  guild  companions,  and  ran  each  other  down ; 

And  scrambled  after  their  weapons, — here,  there,  throughout  the 

town  ; 

And  first  it  began  to  whisper,  then  louder  and  louder  to  roll, 
From   the  mouth   of  the   people  and  head-men, — "  Let  us  hang 

Coppenoll ! " 


VI.     THE   KING  AND   THE   COBBLER. 


i 


^ELCOME,  master !  but  I  hardly  had  known  you  where 

you  stand, 
For  since  with  crown  and  sceptre  you've  domineer'd  this 


land, 
Your  eye-brows  are  much  darker,  and  your  nose  is  much  more 

ruddy, 
And,  like  the  face  of  a  thunder-cloud,  your  countenance  is  bloody." 


THE    KING    AND    THE    COBBLER.  73 

Thus  Max  joked  Master  Coppenoll,  who,  half  in  his  robes  of  state, 
And  half  in  his  guild  costume  enters  the  prison  grate  ; 
The  master  stands  crest-fallen,  and  like  a  bellows  sighs ; 
At  last  he  ventures  boldly  to  raise  his  voice  and  eyes : — 

"  Full  many  a  Roman  ruler  changed  the  sceptre  for  the  plough, 
The  noble  stately  war-horse  for  the  farm-horse  and  the  cow  ; 
For  the  earthen  jug  of  water  changed  the  goblet  of  Moselle, 
Shall  not  the  Ghenter  Coppenoll  as  the  Roman  do  as  well  ? 

"  My  Prince,  my  throne  and  kingdom  at  your  feet  I  gladly  lay, 

And  as  your  loyal  subject  I  promise  to  obey  ; 

So,  like  the  singing-bird,  of  your  cage  again  be  free, 

Only  cast  down  forgivingly  your  glance  on  such  as  me." 

*l  If,  Sir  Master,  over  winter  you  imprison  birds  that  sing, 
Freedom  gives  a  double  sweetness  to  their  carols  in  the  spring ; 
But  if  I  should  sing  the  song  to  you  that  you  have  taught  to  me, 
You  ne'er  would  sing  or  listen  to  such  another  glee. 

"  For  leg  and  foot  alone  is  the  handicraft  you  boast, 
So  kingdoms  must  be  trampled  when  cobblers  rule  the  roast; 
You  say  you  pray  for  pardon  ?     You  are  a  noble  man, 
And  Max  must  try  to  emulate  your  conduct  if  he  can." 

L 


74  THRONE    AND     TRIPOD. 

"  Thanks,  Prince,  to  my  petition  pray  graciously  incline, — 
Should  you  any  time  hereafter  want  something  in  my  line, 
Don't  forget  that  when  I  abdicate  at  Ghent  I  settle  down, 
And  awl  in  hand  you'll  find  me,  at  the  sign  o'  the  Broken  Crown." 

"  Well,  master,  I  will  promise,  but  give  me  first  a  sample, 
Make  me  a  good,  long  strap,  and  let  it  be  firm  arfd  ample ; 
Make  it  of  first-rate  leather,  that  will  neither  stretch  nor  snap, 
If  your  friends  should  sometime  wish  to  make  a  halter  of  the 
strap." 

The  King  now  left  the  prison,  by  Master  Coppenoll's  side, 

"  All  hail,  King  Max  !"  the  people  in  the  streets  rejoicing  cried ; 

Max  cast  a  look  behind  him  as  he  left  the  prison  door, 

And  saw  a  marble  tablet  which  an  inscription  bore. 

'Twas  a  pasquinade  the  rebels  had  lately  graven  there,19 
Max  in  a  loud  voice  read  it,  then  said  with  laughing  air : 
"  Why  do  you  write  in  Latin  that  only  monks  can  read  ? 
While  such  a  thing,  dear  people,  should  be  for  all  indeed !" 


WELCOME    AND    FAREWELL.  75 


VII.     WELCOME  AND   FAREWELL. 


frllAX  on  the  German  camp-field  from  a  foaming  courser 

sprang, 

Bright  glanced  the  eyes  of  the  warriors,  as  their  shouts 
of  greeting  rang ; 

The  princes,  all  in  their  armour,  threw  themselves  on  his  breast, 
How  genial   the   hand   of  a  German   in  his  own  with  kindness 
prest ! 

His  trembling  arms  to  embrace  him  the  Emperor  extends, 
Ha  !  Frederick,  press  to  your  bosom  the  tenderest  of  your  friends ; 
Why  brush  away  the  tear-drops  that  from  your  eyelids  roll'd  ? 
Of  your  tears  are  you  as  niggard  as  they  say  you  are  of  gold  ? 

Then  Max  spake :   "  Grant,  my  father,   and   sirs,  one   prayer   of 

mine, 

Let  the  star  of  peace  on  Flanders  benevolently  shine  ; 
As  Violence  once,  Repentance  now  traverses  the  land, 
And  the  sword  is  wrung  by  Repentance  from  Retribution's  nand." 


76  THRONE    AND     TRIPOD, 

11  My  prince,  you  are  too  lenient,  for  vengeance  Germans  call, 
All  for  each  we  here  are  standing,  are  standing  each  for  all :" 
Thus  roar'd  Albert  the  Saxon.  His  eyes,  how  they  flash'd  with 

ire ! 
Had  the  eyes  of  German  princes  flamed  always  with  that  fire  ! 

"  Come  on,"  cried  Max,  now  sadly ;  "  our  farewell  we  must  say, 
We  go  to  friendly  Tyrol,  so  up,  my  friends,  and  away ! 
Rough  is  the  frock  of  the  peasant,  but  you  hardly  need  be  told, 
That  right  warm  hearts  are  beating  beneath  its  roughest  fold. 

"  On  the  seeds  of  my  own  country  my  horse  shall  never  tread, 
The  blood  of  my  own  people  my  sword  shall  never  shed  ; 
So  go  your  ways,  my  princes,  but  the  honest  burghers  spare, 
They  are  the  pearls  of  my  diadem,  the  fairest  of  the  fair." 

"  Yes,  well,  my  Max,  but  your  purchase  of  pearls  was  a  costly 

thing, 

I  would  therefore  hang  together  these  pearls  upon  a  string :" 
Thus  Conrad  cried,  from  the  circle  of  princes  popping  his  head, 
Like  a  simple  Forget-me-not  peeping  from  a  gorgeous  tulip  bed. 


ELCOME,  ye  hearts  of  Tyrol,  which  beat  so  honestly, 
Welcome,  ye  glaciers  of  Tyrol,  which  bear  the  heavens 

on  high, 

Ye  dwellings  of  Fidelity,  ye  verdant,  fragrant  vales, 
Welcome,  ye  streams  and  pastures,  freedom  and  mountain  gales ! 

Who  is  the  daring  archer  that  in  hunter's  costume  stands, 

In  his  hat  the  beard  of  the  chamois  and  the  cross-bow  in  his  hands; 

Whose  eye  with  a  youthful  ardour,  like  the  eye  of  a  monarch 

glances, 
Whose  heart  with  a  quiet  rapture  in  the  sport  of  the  hunter  dances  ? 

The  hunter  is  Max  of  Hapsburg,  on  a  lusty  chamois  chase, 
Where  scarcely  the  chamois  ventures,  he  sweeps  on  the  frightful 
race  ; 


78  571.     MARTIN'S     WALL. 

He  swings  himself  upwards,  ascending,  in  his  course  like  an  arrow 

swift, 
How  vigorously  he  clambers  over  crag  and  over  clift ! 

Here  over  heaps  of  rubble,  over  deep  abysses  there, 
Now  on  the  ground  close  creeping,  now  flying  through  the  air, 
And  now,  hold  on  !    No  further !    Now  is  he  fast  confin'd, 
Chasm  before,  and   chasms   beside   him,   and   a  break-neck  wall 
behind ! 

As  he  soars  to  the  sun,  the  eagle  holds  there  his  earliest  rest, 
The  strength  of  his  wing  is  broken,  and  fallen  his  haughty  crest, 
If  any  one  thence  to  the  valley  a  road  of  stone  would  lay, 
He  must  quarry  all  Tyrol  and  Styria  for  the  pavement  of  the  way. 

Max  had  heard  from  his  nurse  in  childhood  all  about  St.  Martin's 

Wall, 

Till  at  the  thought  a  dimness  on  his  vision  seemed  to  fall ; 
He  can  see  full  well  already  if  she  painted  the  scenes  with  truth, 
That  he  should  e'er  paint  them  to  others  there's  little  hope  now, 

forsooth ! 

His  throne  the  rocky  rampart,  see  the  princely  scion  stand, 
His  sceptre,  the  wall-lichen,  he  grasps  with  wavering  hand, 


S  T.    MA  R  TIN'S     WA  L  L.  79 

Above  him  spreads  a  vista,  so  boundlessly  display  d, 
That  before  the  dizzy  prospect  his  senses  faint  and  fade. 

The  vale  of  the  Inn  before  him  an  emerald  carpet  spreads, 
Streamlet  and  street  drawn  through  it  like  a  tissue's  woven  threads  \ 
Far  off — colossal  mountains  to  hillocks  shrunk  lie  round, 
Each  one  to  Max  appearing  like  an  ominous  churchyard  mound. 

With  a  blast  of  mighty  clangour  through  his  horn  for  help  he  calls, 

On  the  air  like  a  peal  of  thunder,  but  on  air  alone  it  falls  ; 

A  little  devil  titters  from  a  cleft  in  the  nearest  rock, — 

It  falls  far  short  of  the  valley,  his  stout  horn's  fullest  shock. 

He  blows  again  in  his  bugle,  so  loud  that  it  almost  breaks, 
Ho,  ho,  what  means  this  clamour !  the  shriek  no  succour  wakes  ; 
Were  it  not  for  the  love  of  his  people,  offer  what  bid  he  may, 
Max  will  remain  here  sitting  till  the  final  judgment  day. 

What  the  ear  had  not  discover'd  the  vision  had  descried, 

From  below  they  saw  him  swaying  on  the   pathless   mountain's 

side ; 

There's  a  sound  to  heaven  ascending  of  orisons  and  bells, 
While  from  church  to  church  in  pilgrimage  the  tide  of  manhood 

swells. 


So  ST.    MARTIN'S^    WALL. 

At  the  mountain's  foot  a  multitude  in  various  garb  appears, 
A  priest  in  their  midst  to  heaven  the  sacrament  uprears ; 
Where  the  crowds  in  mingled  colours  in  the  distant  valley  shone, 
Max  saw  the  glance  and  glitter  of  the  golden  pyx  alone. 

"  Farewell  now,  life !     The  parting  falls  heavily  on  me, 

Thou  beckonest,  the  Inscrutable  !     I  humbly  follow  Thee. 

I  seem  like  a  tree  full  of  blossoms,  when  thy  lightning  strikes  its  root, 

It  had  later  borne,  how  joyously  !  its  wealth  of  golden  fruit ! 

"  Like  the  builder  who  a  minster  would  to  Thy  glory  raise, 
And  is  not  spared  to  finish  the  sanctuary  of  praise ! 
Like  the  priest  on  the  steps  of  the  altar  who  suddenly  falls  dead, 
Before  the  invocation  for  his  people's  weal  is  said ! 

"  Adieu  !  the  aspirations  that  now  my  bosom  fill, 
And  break,  thou  heart  impulsive,  that  love  and  pleasure  thrill ; 
Wither  this  hand — fame's  guerdon  will  never  shine  for  me, 
For  only  God's  best  angel  can  my  preserver  be ! " 

In  earnest  supplication  he  .sinks  upon  his  knee, 

Raises  his  eyes,  invoking  Heaven's  succour  fervently  ; 

A  hand  is  laid  on  his  shoulder,  he  starts  with  a  thrill  of  fear, 

"  Come  home,  thou  art  in  safety !"  rings  cheerily  in  his  ear. 


ST.     M A /?  TIN'S     WALL.  81 

And  he  sees  a  brawny  mountaineer  before  him  laughing  stand, 
Who  grasps  him,  and  points  onward  with  a  gesture  of  command ; 
With  rope  and  steel  and  ladder  soon  a  venturous  path  is  ready, 
If  Max's  footsteps  stagger,  his  guardian's  hand  is  steady. 

He  mounts  Max  on  his  shoulders  where  the  dizzy  chasms  frown, 
On  a  fairer  throne  and  firmer  Max  never  sat  him  down  ; 
To  the  valley  thus  descending,  his  course  all  Tyrol  cheers, 
Though  he  rides  in  a  strange  fashion,  at  Max  no  scoffer  jeers. 

There  is  an  old  tradition,  of  many  ages  since, 

That  a  messenger  from  Heaven  wrought  the  rescue  of  the  prince ; 

Yes,  indeed,  it  was  an  angel,  a  spirit  from  above, 

The  love  of  faithful  Tyrol,  a  loyal  People's  love. 

From  the  precipice  down-looking  on  the  vale,  a  crucifix 

Marks  the  spot  whence  Austria's  scion  saw  the  shining  of  the  pyx ; 

Still  lives  the  ancient  legend,  and  in  song  will  never  cease 

To  stir  a  quicker  heart-beat  in  every  Tyrolese  ! 


M 


21 


before 

(AUGUST,    1490.) 

I.     THE   REUNION. 


N  a.  hill-side,  near  Vienna,  has  stood,  from  days  of  yore 
With    delicate    tracery   chisell'd,   a   column   tall   and 

hoar; 
Since  the  old  days  the  Spinner  at  the  Cross  they've  call'd  the 

column, 
And  the  old  days  rustle  round  it  still,  in  legends  quaint  and  solemn. 

And  thou,  oh,  gazing  wanderer,  who  stand'st  there  now-a-days, 
Thrill'st  with  the  magic  beauties  the  scenery  displays  ; 
And  as  the  golden  eagle  with  rustling  plumage  flies, 
Sinks  down  upon  thy  heart  inspiration  from  the  skies. 


THE    REUNION.  83 

There,  with  unrivalled  grandeur,  in  matchless  beauty  bright, 

The  old  imperial  city  breaks  on  the  startled  sight ; 

Around  green  woods  and  mountains,  streams,  meadows,  and  crops 

like  gold, 
God's  scroll  of  benedictions  before  thee  lies  unroll'd. 

Round  about  this  sea  of  stones,  through  the  sloping  valley  lie, 
Low  in  the  broad  savannas,  and  on  the  upland  high, 
Chapels,  cottages,  and  castles,  strewn  on  their  ground  of  green, 
Like  white  lambs  by  the  side  of  the  greater  cattle  seen. 

And  a  stirring  joyful  murmur,  the  hollow  rumble  of  drays, 
And  bells  from  a  hundred  steeples,  shouts  of  joy  and  songs  of  praise  ; 
In  a  thousand-fold  echo  swelling,  it  reaches  the  listener's  ear, 
As  if  it  were  hymning  in  chorus — "  a  happy  folk  lives  here." 

The  earth  with  a  gentle  tremor  quivers  under  thy  feet, 

The  pulses  of  joy  and  life  there  so  vigorously  beat ; 

The  breezes  in  light  vibration  ripple  about  thine  ear, 

And  speak  to  thy  heart  in  a  whisper — "  a  happy  folk  lives  here." 

Not  such  to  Max  the  aspect,  when  here  he  took  his  stand, 
And  gazed,  with  moistened  vision,  on  the  city  and  the  land  ; 
With  him  a  powerful  army  of  horse  and  foot  appear, 
Wide  beaming  helm  and  armour,  and  banner,  shield,  and  spear. 


84  MAX   BEFORE    VIENNA. 

Again  he  sees  the  towers  of  the  vast  cathedral  gleam, 

And  there,  beyond  colossal  piles,  the  Danube's  azure  stream, 

That  seems  the  faithful  city  with  a  girdle  to  enfold, 

As  the  snake  of  a  magician  lies  in  watch  before  his  gold. 

The  grey  ancestral  castle,  afar  he  sees  once  more, 
And  well  it  might  remind  him  of  the  better  days  of  yore ; 
For  once  the  Hapsburg  banner  serenely  floated  where 
The  hostile  flag  of  Hungary,  wild  blowing,  flouts  the  air. 

And  around  stand,  waste  and  empty,"  wide  fields  where  once  there 

roll'd 

The  yellow  sheaves  of  harvest,  like  a  waving  sea  of  gold  ; 
Did  the  reaper  watch  his  season  to  cut  the  ripen'd  grain, 
Or  did  the  Hungarian  pasture  his  horse  upon  the  plain? 

See  hill-top  green  on  hill-top  the  azure  stream  along, 

Once  grapes  hung  there  in  clusters,  once  music  swelled  and  song ; 

When  the  vine-dresser  plucks  thy  clusters,  he  takes  his  own  by 

stealth, 
At  night  alone  he  rifles  his  vineyard's  purple  wealth. 

Stand  churches  white  and  shining  on  all  the  hills  around, 
Where  bell  and  song  are  silenced,  stifled  wailings  only  sound  ; 


THE    REUNION.  85 

Thanks,  thanks  alone,  once  blended  there  with  the  merry  chime  of 

bells,— 
There  is  little  left  to  pray  for  where  Thrift  with  Freedom  dwells. 

Now  sorrows  rise  on  sorrows,  and  smoking  cloud  on  cloud, 
"  Approach,  and  save  thy  people  ! "  they  seem  to  cry  aloud  ; 
And  flaming  sounds  the  answer  return'd  from  Max's  breast, 
"  Deliverance  shall  give  thee  prosperity  and  rest ! 

"  My  Austria,  peerless  Austria !  all  lands  to  thee  must  yield, 
Truth  shines  as  thy  escutcheon,  hold  fast  the  diamond  shield ! 
Rolls  o'er  thy  head  an  atmosphere  that  blessing  ever  fills, 
And  silver  are  thy  highways,  and  golden  are  thy  hills. 

"  My  greetings  to  thee,  Austria  !     Yet  how  we  meet  again, 
When  misery  shrouds  thy  hill-top,  and  misery  sweeps  thy  plain — 
Thine  air  the  smoke  of  villages,  thy  rivers  streams  of  blood, 
Despair  thine  only  chorus,  and  Truth  thine  only  good  ! 

"  Thou  city  of  my  fathers  !  what  a  sad  meeting  ours  ! 
See  blood-soak'd  banners  flapping  from  my  ancestral  towers  ; 
And  I,  alas  !  who  gladly  the  crown  of  peace  would  bring, 
Must  crackling  garlands  of  fire  about  thy  turrets  swing. 


86  MAX   BEFORE    VIENNA. 

"  Thou  hast  suffer'd,  and  must  suffer,  and  yet  thou  wilt  not  fall, 
The  prison  of  suffering  arches  itself  to  a  dome  of  joy  for  all ; 
O,  that  a  fitting  guerdon  might  crown  thy  strength  and  truth, 
And  shine  on  thee  from  the  darkness  a  day  of  spring  and  youth !" 


II.    THE    SIEGE    OF    THE    IMPERIAL    PALACE. 

HERE  where  the  Kaiser's  palace  in  ancient  splendour  lay, 
Was  encamp'd  King  Max's  army,  in  magnificent  array  ; 
For    there    his    last    resistance    the   Magyar   planned 
undaunted, 
And  in  the  vaulted  windows  his  grim  artillery  planted. 

There  princes  once  and  courtiers  dispensed  their  smiles  of  grace, 
And  he  whom  they  vouchsafed  one  went  home  with  joyous  face  ; 
And  he  to  whom  from  the  window  a  look  of  love  was  sent, 
Carried  a  beating  heart  with  him — no  matter  where  he  went. 

Where  are  you,  imperial  eagles  ?  What  has  frighten'd  you  away  ? 
Perch'd  on  St.  Stephen's  tower  one  ventures  still  to  stay : 


SIEGE    OF    THE    IMPERIAL    PALACE,         87 

If  he  had  not  been  made  of  marble,  he,  too,  would  have  taken  his 

flight, 
Or  saw  he  the  smiling  morrow,  after  the  stormy  night  ? 

Hark,  the  clangour  of  drums  and  trumpets  !    How  it  howls  and 

rages  and  cracks  ! 

"  Hie,  up  and  in,  my  brothers  !"     How  thunders  the  voice  of  Max  ! 
The  palace-walls  with  the    battle-cries  and  the  shower  of  bullets 

quake ; 
If  an  emperor  there  were  sleeping  he  would  now  be  sure  to  awake. 

The  boldest  of  the  warriors  essay  an  escalade  ; 
Are  you  climbing  up  the  window  of  a  pretty  little  maid  ? 
Your  sweetheart  waits  already,  and  from  roses  purple-red 
She  weaves  a  ruby  coronet,  to  decorate  your  head. 

By  Max's  side  contending,  a  cavalier  thus  speaks  ; 
"  My  prince,  why  comes  so  suddenly  that  pallor  to  thy  cheeks  ? " 
"  Hush,  friend,  and  were  I  pallid  how  otherwise  could  it  be  ? 
'Tis  only  the  reflection  of  my  armour  that  you  see." 

"  Storm  !  up  and  in,  my  brothers  !  "  Dust  veils  in  clouds  the  walls, 
From  swords  and  throats  of  fire  a  shine  of  red  flame  falls ; 
A  herdsman  in  the  distance  drives  home  his  flocks  to  fold, 
"  A  storm  comes  from  Vienna — the  lightning  there  behold  !  " 


88  MAX   BEFORE    VIENNA. 

A  cavalier  by  Max's  side  looked  on  the  prince,  and  said, 
"  My  prince,  is  it  not  blood  there  where  your  shoulder  is  so  red  ?" 
"  Your  sight's  at  fault,  good  fellow,  the  red  you  need  not  mind, 
Tis  my  mantle's  purple  lining  turned  outward  by  the  wind." 

"  Ho  !    Bravo  brothers,  forward  !  "     Now  from  the  trembling  walls, 
Like  flakes  of  blossoms  in  spring-time,  a  shower  of  bullets  falls  ; 
Almighty  Heaven  !  loud  cracking  a  smoking  bastion  crumbles, 
And  there  a  lofty  parapet  with  a  crash  of  thunder  tumbles. 

Up  !  up  !  over  rubble  and  ruins,  through  the  deadly  breach  they  fly, 
Now  merrily  thrills  the  drum-beat,  and  hark  to  the  victor's  cry ! 
Peace  !  peace  !  the  colours  of  Hungary  are  draggled  in  the  moats, 
And  from  the  ancestral  castle  the  flag  of  Hapsburg  floats. 

As  they  rush  in,  the  victors  in  the  spacious  halls  behold 
The  corpses  of  Magyar  warriors  in  heaps  together  roll'd  ; 
And  over  them  as  sentinels,  drawn  scimitars  in  hand, 
Like  monumental  seraphim  the  living  Magyars  stand. 

Max  greets  their  leader  courteously,  and  gently  takes  his  hand, 
"  Withdraw,  ye  noble  champions,  in  peace  to  your  own  land  ;  • 
Though  enemies,  I  honour  you.    You've  fought  a  manly  fight ; 
I  would  we  were  contending  for  one  land  and  one  right !  " 


SIEGE    OF    THE    IMPERIAL    PALACE.  89 

He  spake ;  a  fever  seized  him,  and  blood  burst  from  his  wound, 
And  with  a  pallid  visage  he  sank  upon  the  ground  ; 
On  a  bier  borne  to  a  chamber,  where  no  sound  the  stillness  broke, 
Soon  from  a  heavy  slumber,  thanks  to  the  Lord  !  he  woke. 

By  his  bed-side  Convalescence  the  beautiful  matron  stood, 
Kiss'd  him  on  cheek  and  forehead,  and  staunch'd  the  flowing  blood  ; 
Without,  a  harp  once  sounded  in  the  evening  twilight  dim, 
And  thus  the  winds  of  the  Occident  wafted  the  song  to  him  : — 

"  From  many  an  arrow,  woman  the  heart  of  the  loved  one  shields, 
And  but  when  the  storm  is  over  to  the  flood  of  suffering  yields  ; 
So  the  hero  beckons  his  army  where  danger  and  glory  be, 
Before  they  bandage  his  wounds  with  the  banners  of  victory. 

"  So  both  the  tree  resemble,  which,  from  the  hail  and  storm, 
Protects,  in  its  thick-leaved  shadow,  the  tired  wanderer's  form  ; 
But  when  the  storm  is  over  and  the  skies  again  are  blue, 
It  shakes  from  its  leaves  and  branches  its  own  round  drops  of  dew." 


N 


German  Usage; 


N  the  grave  sank  Emperor  Frederick  ;    God  rest  him 

where  he  lies ! 
Max  grasp'd  the  golden  sceptre  ;   to  the  sun  may  the 

eagle  rise ! 

At  Worms  he  held  a  Diet.     Up,  Princes,  and  hie  thereto, 
It  is  yours  to  promote  and  counsel,  that  light  and  right  may  grow. 

Once  in  the  musty  council-hall  Max  rose,  half-tired  to  death, 
The  dust  of  the  parchments  had  nearly  taken  away  his  breath ; 
The  prosy,  long-headed  speakers  quite  crazed  him  with  form  and 

fuss, 
And  he  cried  to  his  fool,  "  Friend  Conrad,  this  is  no  place  for  us !" 

He  loves  the  faithful  Conrad  all  other  men  above, 
As  a  gardener  in  his  garden  watches  every  tree  with  love, 
But  selects  one  for  himself,  'neath  its  foliage  to  repose, 
When  on  day's  sultry  labours  the  shades  of  evening  close. 


GERMAN    USAGE.  91 

They  saunter'd  through  the  streets,  here  and  there,  and  up  and 

down, 

When  they  stopp'd  before  a  mansion,  of  the  stateliest  in  town ; 
Then   Conrad   spake :    "  My   sovereign,  shut   your   eyes   without 

delay, 
Many  a  man  has  read  his  eyes  out  on  this  spot  before  to-day. 

"  It   is   French,   and   by  experience  you  know  of  a  Frenchman's 

freaks, 

Who  does  not  read  as  he  writes,  and  does  not  write  as  he  speaks, 
Who   does   not   speak   as   he   thinks,   and   does   not   compose  as 

he  sings, 
So  great  in  all  things  little,  and  so  little  in  all  great  things." 

A  knight  of  France  inhabited  this  house  in  princely  state, 
His  escutcheon,  brightly  shining,  hung  high  without  the  gate ; 
And  on  this  gay  escutcheon,  upon  a  bright  gold  ground, 
Inscribed  in  flourishing  letters,  these  words  were  writ  around : — 

"  May  God  bless  him  who  reads  it !     My  German  bold,  come  out, 
Here  hang  up  thine  escutcheon,  if  thou'rt  ready  for  a  bout ; 
And  if,  after  knightly  fashion  and  the  laws  of  chivalry, 
Thou  conquerest,  thereafter  thy  willing  thrall  I'll  be." 


92  GERMAN    USAGE. 

The  king  pass'd  on  in  silence,  but  soon  on  the  knight's  shield 
A  'scutcheon  hung,  with  the  colours  of  Hapsburg  on  its  field  ; 
And  with  the  dawn,  awaiting,  on  an  area  of  sand, 
Opposed  the  king  and  the  Frenchman  in  mortal  combat  stand. 

• 
How  he  swung  his  sword  should  I  sing  you,  his  good  sword  broad 

and  true, 

And  how  his  spear  he  handled,  I  should  sing  you  nothing  new  ; 
Should  I  say  how  without  cessation  he  follow'd  up  stab  with  blow, 
How  the  German  deals  with  the  Frenchman  you've  reason  already 

to  know. 

• 

Now  higher  the  sun  has  mounted.     The  Frenchman  lies  on  the 

sand, 

The  sword  of  victory  shining  is  raised  in  Max's  hand  ; 
Like  the  conqueror  St.  Michael,  with  his  falchion  flaming  bright, 
He  cries  as  he  stands  transfigured,  "Thus  strikes  a  German 

* 

knight ! 

"  To  serve  for  life  as  my  thrall  is  your  voluntary  doom. 
And  the  rights  my  office  gives  me  I  shall  .instantly  assume." 
Three  times  he  swung  his  sword  round,  "  Rise  up,  my  worthy 

knight ; 
Thus  strikes  a  King  and  a  German.     Be  brave  as  your  sword  is 

bright." 


GERMAN    USAGE.  93 

To  all  the  land,  ye  singers,  sing  the  prince's  deed  and  word  ; 
To  the  jewel  of  your  circle,  lower,  every  knight,  your  sword  ; 
Crown  the  temples  of  the  victor,  fair  women  of  Germany, 
And  shout  to  his  glory,  ye  Germans,  wherever  Germans  be. 

Swell  myriad  juicy  clusters  round  about  Worms  on  the  Rhine, 
"  Milk  of  our  Lady,"  they  call  it,  this  luscious  amber  wine ; 
Imbibe  this  milk,  old  man,  it  will  make  you  again  a  child, 
O  Lord,  give  our  land  in  thy  bounty  much  milk  so  sweet  and  mild. 

It  flow'd  from  golden  vessels  on  Max's  board  that  night, 
As  if  out  of  golden  udders,  so  fresh  and  clear  und  bright ; 
By  Max's  side  how  copiously  the  happy  French  knight  tipples ! 
Down  Conrad's  throat  how  warmingly  the  genial  liquor  ripples  ! 

The  Frenchman  raised  the  goblet,  with  ardour  flamed  his  blood, 
"  Hail,  Max,  to  thee,  noble  German,  so  gallant  and  so  good  ! " 
"  Ho,  ho  !"  cried  Conrad,  half  fiercely,  "  now  make  a  wager  with  me, 
Which  of  us  two  to  this  toast  can  drink  the  most  heartily." 

How  he  swung  his  cup  should  I  tell  you,  his  cup  the  deep  and  true, 
How  he  nimbly  unsealed  the  bottles,  I  should  tell  you  nothing  new  ; 
How  glass  after  glass  he  emptied,  should  I  deem  it  worth  while  to  tell, 
That  the  German  sticks  close  to  the  bottle,  you  certainly  know  full 
well. 


94  GERMAN    USAGE. 

Like  shields  flash  their  brimmers    together,   with   a   ring   and   a 

rattle  of  might, 

Their  looks  each  other  encounter  like  lances  in  the  fight ! 
Who  stood,  who  fell  in  the  drinking  ? — it  never  came  to  light ; 
For  neither  could  tell  in  the  morning  what  happen'd  over  night. 


ant  JFreemen 


(1499.) 
I.     SWITZERLAND. 

JHIS  rush  into  Switzerland,  princes!   what  may  its 

meaning  be  ? 
Would  you  for  once  in  your  life-time  look  on  a  land 

that  is  free  ? 

Would  you  exchange  the  sceptre  for  a  simple  shepherd's  stave, 
Or  in  the  soil  of  Freedom  would  you  haply  find  a  grave  ? 

From  a  lofty  Alpine  summit  look  down  upon  this  land, 
It  lies  there  like  a  volume  all  written  by  God's  hand, 
The  mountains  are  the  letters,  as  leaves  the  fields  unroll, 
Saint  Gothard  is  only  an  asterisk  in  this  gigantic  scroll. 

Know  you  what  there  is  written  ?    Oh,  see  it  beams  so  bright, 
Freedom  stands  there,  ye  princes  !  can  ye  read  the  page  aright  ? 
No  chancellor  engross'd  it,  it  is  no  parchment  chart, 
And  the  red  that  burns  in  the  signet  is  the  blood  of  a  people's  heart 


96  KNIGHTS   AND    FREEMEN. 

Behold  the  mighty  mountain — the  Monk  in  the  country  hight, — 
Around  his  brow  the  eagle  sweeps  in  its  heavenward  flight ; 
His  cowl  is  of  rock,  and  the  snow-crown  becomes  his  temples  well, 
His  prayer-book  the  starry  heavens,  the  universe  his  cell. 

When  a  Monk  appears,  there  surely  can  be  no  lack  of  preaching, 
In  the  thunder  of  the  avalanche,  in  the  cataract  he  is  teaching  ; 
Freedom  !  that  is  his  text-word  ;  good  sirs,  you  do  not  smile, 
It  is  clear  the  Monk  is  a  heretic — he  must  go  into  durance  yile. 

Lo,  in  white  veil  the  Maiden  raises  her  modest  head, 
As  Morning,  the  bridegroom,  garlands  her  brow  with  roses  red  ; 
With  various  flowers  embroider'd  her  green  apparel  gleams, 
Where,  like  silver  tissues  inwoven,  sparkle  the  crested  streams. 

Over  her,  arch'd  to  a  cupola,  behold  the  blue  air  streams, 
The  row  of  pointed  glaciers  a  cathedral  organ  seems  ; 
With  a  maid  and  an  organ  together,  one  cannot  well  be  wrong 
In  listening  with  all  assurance  for  music  and  for  song. 

Hear  how  her  song  magnificent  thrills  in  the  beating  heart, 
Freedom  !  Freedom  !  she  sings  so  that  all  our  pulses  start  : 
By  heavens  !  with  such  a  harmony  never  sang  daughters  of  earth, 
And  they  who  join  in  the  chorus  are  surely  of  heavenly  birth. 


S  WITZERLA  ND.  97 

My  Lords,  will  it  not  suit  you  ?    Is  there  no  sound  you  will  hear 
Save  a  eunuch  sing,  or  a  sabre  whistle  it  in  your  ear  ? 
But  this  gigantic  volume  in  Switzerland  they  read, 
And   hear  the   song  of  the  Maiden,  and  the  Preacher's  sermon 
heed. 

In  Switzerland  outbubbling  freely  the  fountains  spring, 
Free  sweep  the  clouds,  and  freely  the  birds  in  chorus  sing ; 
From  the  glacier  freely  the  chamois  looks  down  on  the  thunder- 
storm, 
And  freely  the  west-wind  bloweth  o'er  the  freeman's  lifeless  form. 

On  the  lofty  Alpine  summits  the  Swiss  by  thousands  stand, 
They  look  down  on  their  country,  and,  clasping  hand  in  hand, 
They  swear  in  death  and  in  life  ever  firm  and  true  to  be, 
And  swear  in  death  and  in  life  to  stand  ever  strong  and  free. 


98  KNIGHTS    AND     FREEMEN. 


II.    TWO   HEROES. 

TANDS  graved  at  Kingsfield  convent,  on  a  monumental 

slab, 
Here    good    King    Albert    perish'd,    pierced    by    the 

assassin's  stab :" 

In  the  note  books  of  astrologers,  we  see  it  often  stand. 
"  This  year  a  bloody  comet  was  threatening  the  land." 

At  Kingsfield,  in  the  Convent,  on  a  stone  the  words  appear : 
"  In  the  hope  of  resurrection  Duke  Leopold  lieth  here." 
Thus  a  pillar  to  his  grand-child  a  grey-hair'd  peasant  shows, 
"  Here  once,  now  dust  and  ashes,  a  splendid  temple  rose." 

In  prayer  King  Max  is  kneeling  Duke  Leopold's  grave  beside ; 
Through  Switzerland  in  vengeance  as  a  Hapsburg  he  must  ride : 
As  a  monarch,  to  free  Switzerland,  bring  slavery  and  chains : 
As  a  man,  the  pulse  of  freedom  beats  wildly  in  his  veins. 

"  Like  a  hero,  noble  ancestor,  thou  yieldedst  up  thy  breath, 
Throned  on  a  pile  of  corpses,  on  Sempach's  field  of  death ; 
Would  I  might  perish  in  battle — as  thou — ,so  brave  !  so  good ! 
But  never  will  I  crimson  my  sword  with  Freedom's  blood." 


TWO    HEROES.  99 

He  speaks  and   beckons :   instantly,   a   knight    strides    from   the 

crowd, 

His  arm  as  strong  as  an  anvil,  his  mouth  as  stern  as  a  shroud ; 
But  that  this  arm  can  embrace  one,  and  that  this  mouth  can  kiss, 
Is  told  at  home  (in  confidence)  by  many  a  laughing  miss. 


In  peace,  his  eyes  will  moisten  at  a  flower  untimely  blighted, 

He  relishes  no  goblet  save  when  by  his  love  invited  ; 

But  in  war,  skulls  bleach'd  and  hollow  he  would  fill  with  wine 

blood-red, 
And  quaff  to  the  health  of  his  lady,  while  he  sat  on  heaps  of  the 

dead. 

In  a  scroll  the  legend  of  knighthood  is  writ  on  his  glancing  shield, 
Approved  by  his  knightly  bearing,  and  his  valour  in  the  field  : 
"  My  life  belongs  to  my  monarch,  my  soul  to  its  source  divine, 
My  heart  is  given  to  woman,  and  honour  alone  is  mine."24 


The  prince  bestows  the  truncheon  of  the  general  on  the  knight : 
"  Lead  in  my  stead,  my  Furstenberg,  our  forces  in  the  fight : 
May  Heaven  guide  you  in  mercy,  and  temper  your  weapon's  glare  ; 
Your  vice-ensign  be  Victory,  and  Honour  your  standard  bear  ! " 


ioo  KNIGHTS    AND    FREEMEN. 

"  Methinks,  my  friend,  you  fancy  for  fame  there's  little  show, 
Where  a  cow-horn  is  the  clarion,  and  peasants  are  the  foe : 
But  these  hinds  bring  crown  and  purple  to  the  test  of  the  battle- 
ground, 
And  many  a  proud  heart  quivers  to  hear  that  cow-horn  sound." 


On  Uri's  valley  resteth  the  full  moon's  peaceful  ray, 
Once  more  the  sun  in  parting  looks  back  upon  the  day ; 
And  long  Saint  Gothard's  summit  glows  in  the  valley's  night, 
A  giant  altar  blazing  with  a  sacrificial  light. 

Where  the  swift  Reuss  foams  and  dashes  through  Uri's  rocky  glen, 

Bearing  aloft  a  banner,  behold  a  crowd  of  men  ; 

A  Black  Ox  on  a  field  of  gold — lo,  Uri's  arms  appear  ! 

No  yoke  has  ever  press'd  the  neck  of  that  unbroken  steer. 

There's  a  wooden  house  in  the  valley,  on  a  little  plot  of  green, 
Where  carved  about  the  cornice  in  a  rude  scroll  is  seen, — 
"  I'm  a  free-born  son  of  Switzerland  and  Harry  Wohlleb  hight, 
This  little  house  and  its  tenant  stand  only  in  God's  might." 


TWO    HEROES.  101 

Before  the  threshold  sits  a  man  of  venerable  years, 
Like  a  stripp'd  field  in  autumn  his  hoary  head  appears ; 
A  blooming  little  daughter  sits  smiling  by  his  side, 
As  a  rosebud  decks  a  ruin  with  its  beauty  and  its  pride. 

The  earnest  crowd  approaching,  the  leader  steps  before, 
And  proffers  the  patriot  standard  to  the  veteran  at  the  door : 
"  Friend  Wohlleb,  take  this  standard,  with  a  heart  as  firm  and  bold, 
As  the  mayor  Nick  Gutt  at  Sempach  his  banner  bore  of  old." 

The  old  man  takes  the  banner,  and  lifts  his  reverend  brow ; 
His  guiding  arm  now  trembles  when  he  walks  behind  the  plough  ; 
But  with  a  grasp  unfaltering  he  holds  that  strong  shaft  high, 
And  hot  words  in  winged  cadence  from  his  lips  like  eagles  fly. 

"  Oh,  keep,  good  Lord,  thy  people  and  thy  servant  in  thy  sight, 
Who  boldly  raise  their  weapons  for  freedom  and  the  right ; 
If  thou  will'st  it,  then,  as  firmly  as  a  tower  upon  a  rock, 
This   arm    shall   bear  the  standard  through   the  battle's  stormy 
shock. 

"  Thou  will'st  we  pay  no  homage  to  the  purple — on  our  knee : 
He  bends  no  limb  to  mortal,  who  devoutly  bends  to  thee  ; 
Where  with  hostile  foot  the  stranger  our  fathers'  graves  profanes, 
Shall  the  knights'  horses  pasture — to  trample  their  remains  ? 


102  KNIGHTS    AND    FREEMEN. 

"  Shall  our  children,  pinch'd  with  hunger,  with  Death  dispute  the  day, 
And  from  knights'  dogs  snatch  the  morsels  their  masters  throw  away  ? 
Shall  their  boys  insult  our  greybeards  ?    Shall  we  ever  live  to  see 
Their  white  hairs  trampled  in  the  dust  ?  Oh  God,  that  shall  not  be  ! 

"  Out  now,  out  of  thy  scabbard  !  be  true  to  me,  my  brand, 
True  as  the  good  scythe  proves  itself  in  the  skilful  reaper's  hand  ; 
Twice  only  thine  appointed  days  of  labour  thou  hast  mown, 
Yet  as  Morat  and  as  Grandson  the  well-reap'd  fields  are  known ! 

"  Holy  banner,  float  for  ever  round  the  forehead  of  the  .free  ! 
And  from  our  flashing  glaciers  wave  in  sign  of  Victory ! 
Oh,  awake  in  our  valleys, — Freedom,  heavenly  maid,  arise, 
Thou  hast  made  thy  couch  already  where  the  Alps  blend  with  the 
skies." 

So  speaks  the  white-hair'd  Wohlleb.    His  heart  feels  youthful  now, 
And  the  flutter  of  the  banner  cools  the  fever  of  his  brow  ; 
Thereon  how  sweetly  bloweth  the  gentle  evening  air ! 
Or  does  Tell's  shade  approving  lay  his  hand  in  blessing  there  ? 

Hear  the  Reuss  as  it  foams  and  sparkles,  and  down  through  the 

valley  sings, 

And  from  rock  to  rock  impetuous  like  the  chamois  hunter  springs; 
See  the  full  moon  thereover  glows  out  with  blood-red  fires, 
And  serenely  on  Saint  Gothard  the  altar  flame  expires. 


TWO    DAYS.  103 


III.    TWO   DAYS. 

j  N  the  field  in  front  of  Frastenz,  drawn  up  in  battle  array, 
Stretched  spear  on  spear  in  a  crescent,  the  German  army 

lay; 

Behind  a  wall  of  bucklers  stood  bosoms  steel'd  with  pride, 
And  a  stiff  wood  of  lances  that  all  assaults  defied. 

Oh,  why,  ye  men  of  Switzerland,  from  your  Alpine  summits  sally, 
And  arm'd  with  clubs  and  axes  descend  into  the  valley? 
"  The  wood  just  grown  at  Frastenz  with  our  axes  we  would  fell, 
To  build  homesteads  from  its  branches  where  Liberty  may  dwell." 

The  Swiss  on  the  German  lances  rush  with  impetuous  shock ; 

It  is  spear  on  spear  in  all  quarters — they  are  dash'd  like  waves 

from  a  rock. 

His  teeth  then  gnash'd  the  Switzer,  and  the  mocking  German  cried, 
"  See  how  the  snout  of  the  greyhound  is  pierced  by  the  hedgehog's 

hide!" 

• 

Like  a  song  of  resurrection,  then  sounded  from  the  ranks  : 

"  Illustrious  shade,**  Von  Winkelried  !  to  thee  I  render  thanks : 


104  KNIGHTS    AND    FREEMEN. 

Thou  beckonest,  I  obey  thee  !    Up,  Swiss,  and  follow  me  !" 
Thus  the  voice  of  Henry  Wohlleb  from  the  ranks  rang  loud  and 
free. 

From  its  shaft  he  tore  the  banner,  and  twined  it  round  his  breast, 
And  hot  with  the  lust  of  death  on  the  serried  lances  press'd  ; 
His  red  eyes  from  their  sockets  like  flaming  torches  glare, 
And  in  front,  in  place  of  the  banner,  wave  the  locks  of  his  snow- 
white  hair ! 


The  spears  of  six  knights  together — in  his  hand  he  seizes  all — 
And  thereon  thrusts  his  bosom — there's  a  breach  in  the  lances'  wall. 
With   vengeance    fired,  the  Switzers  storm  the   battle's   perilous 

ridge,     . 
And   the   corpse   of  Henry  Wohlleb   to   their  vengeance   is   the 

bridge. 

Then  crackle  the  blows  of  the  Switzers,  as  the  hail  falls  on  the  fields, 
Like  sparks  from  the  blacksmith's  furnace,  the  sparks  fly  from  the 

shields  ; 
The  blows  of  swords  on  the  bucklers  resound  with  a  clash  and 

clang, 
As  if  in  felling  a  forest  a  thousand  axes  rang. 


TWO    DAYS.  105 

When  the  woodman  hews  in  the  forest,  the  seedling  he  well  may 

•  spare, 
That  in  time  it  may  grow  and  flourish,  and  its  mantle  of  foliage 

bear; 

Not  thus  in  the  forest  of  lances  the  Swiss  their  axes  swung, 
They  spared  neither  stem  nor  scion — 'twas  alike  with  the  old  and 

the  young. 

Kuoring,  the  grey  old  oak-tree,  sinks  here  with  a  mortal  blow, 
Using,  the  cedar,  beautiful,  and  rich  in  hope,  lies  low ; 
Wohlleb  in  death  shouts  "Victory  !"  and  his  followers  join  the  cry, 
In   the   plain   that  but   now  was    a   forest,   where   in   blood  two 
armies  lie. 

The  broad  plain  lay  incarnadined,  in  bloody  tapestry  drest, 
As  the  purple  funeral  trappings  on  a  royal  coffin  rest, 
There — instead  of  faded  flowers — the  knights'  pale  faces  lay, 
And  Wohlleb  like  a  lily,  with  his  locks  of  silver  grey. 

And  now  like  priests  at  the  altar,  with  lifted  eyes  and  hands, 

By  this  great  bier  the  army  of  enfranchised  victors  stands  ; 

And  their  hands  from  carnage  cleansing  in  the  Illstrom's  rushing 

water, 
They   bury   both   friend  and  foeman  with  tears   on   the  field  of 

slaughter. 

P 


106  KNIGHTS    AND    FREEMEN. 


You  remember  Castle  Dorneck — and  the  castle's  joyous  throng, 
At  its  gate  the  giant  linden,  in  whose  shade  were  dance  and  song  : 
See  now  its  empty  chambers — no  arm  the  goblet  swings, 
Behold  the  quiet  linden — there  now  no  minstrel  sings. 

With  broadswords,  and  with  halberds,  like  stalks  in  a  sea  of  wheat, 

Below  there  in  the  valley  the  forces  of  Furstenberg  meet ; 

And  the  Swiss  meet  above  on  the  mountain,  where  the  scythes  and 

sickles  glance) 
Shouting  for  joy  and  singing  like  the  reapers  in  harvest  dance. 


With  a  sneer  now  to  his  squires  the  German  commander  said, 

"  Take  hence,  to  the  reapers  above  there,  this  loaf  of  morning  bread  !" 

You  may  spare  the  trouble  of  sending,  proud  knight,  you  may  rue 

your  pride, 
The  Swiss  will  fetch  it  himself,  perhaps,  and  leave  you  his  thanks 

beside. 


TWO    DA  VS.  107 

See,  he  does  not  allow  you  to  wait  long — with  shining  ore  he  pays, 
And  the  thanks  he  brings  you'll  be  sure  to  remember  all  your  days, 
Though  rough  indeed  is  the  coinage  of  the  money  that  he  brings, 
Yet,  mark,  how  bright  it  glistens — and  hear  how  true  it  rings  ! 

Ha,  sword !  thou  art  the  money  that  we  for  tyrants  wield, 

The  changers  a  free  people,  pay-day  the  battle-field  ; 

Your  money  to-day,  ye  Switzers,  ye've  spared  neither  early  nor  late, 

And  many  a  German  bearer  has  stagger'd  under  its  weight. 

Who  is  it,  whose  escutcheon  in  the  hottest  battle  shines, 

And  who  roars  as  roars  the  whirlwind  among  the  groaning  pines? 

It  can  be  only  a  freeman  who  so  bravely  fights — Ah,  no  ! 

It  is  Furstenberg — of  his  army  the  first  in  the  foremost  row. 

In  a  fluttering  black  mantle,  and  bearing  a  cross  of  white, 
Like  a  walking  pall,  a  Switzer  now  storms  into  the  fight : 
The  dean  of  Zug  is  the  comer — to  the  Lord  be  the  glory  and 

thanks — 
Welcome,  your  reverence,  welcome,  now  to  the  patriot  ranks  1 

To  swing  the  brush  full  of  water  formerly  was  his  wont, 
That  sprinkled  the  heads  of  the  faithful  from  the  minster's  holy 
font; 


io8  KNIGHTS    AND    FREEMEN. 

Mark  how  he  swings  the  sword  now — how  from  it  the  red  blood 

runs ! 
This  is  the  brush  and  the  water  of  Freedom  baptizing  her  sons. 

There  stands  a  blood-stain'd  warrior,  on  masses  of  the  dead, 
As  the  oak  stands  on  the  ridges,  with  the  morning  sunshine  red ; 
It  is  only  a  Swiss  who  fights  so !     But  he  is  not  a  Swiss, — 
It  is  Furstenberg  the  German — what  man  fights  better  than  this  ! 

Hark,  the  horn  of  the  herdsmen  of  Zug,  with  its  shrill  and  horrible 

clang ! 
Storm  !  storm  !  in  accents  the  wildest  from  the  Unterwald  boatmen 

rang! 

Ho,  ho,  ye  archers  of  Uri,  the  aim  of  your  arrows  is  good  ! 
Ho,  ye  vine-dressers  of  Soleure,  your  clusters  already  yield  blood. 

Borne  high  above  all  the  others,  what  banner  flutters  there  ? 
On  a  field  of  red  and  purple,  lo  !  a  grim  and  swarthy  bear ! 
Yes,  honest  Berne,  for  thy  banner  the  choice  was  wise  and  good  ; 
The  black  bear,  grim  and  angry,  that  welters  deep  in  blood. 

Lies  one  with  a  cloven  brow  there,  who  has  fought  in  his  last  affray, 
And  smiles  even  in  death  o'er  the  lips  of  the  hero  play : 


TWO    DAYS.  109 

Only  the  free  smiles  dying — a  Swiss  is  it  ?     Ah,  no ! 

It  is  again  the  Furstenberg,  who  in  pain  and  death  smiles  so ! 

"  Ye  dextrous  reapers  of  Switzerland,  your  sickles  cut  to  the  blood, 
Ye  lusty  threshers  of  Switzerland,  your  threshing  is  strong  and 

good  : " 
In  the  midst  of  his  army's  corpses  thus  he  groan'd  with  his  latest 

breath, 
Still  true  to  his  knightly  legend,  as  in  life  so  also  in  death. 

Like  gather'd  sheaves  of  the  harvest,  the  knights  around  lie  dead, 
And  in  the  midst  their  leader,  like  a  poppy  purple-red ; 
On  the  stripped  and  desert  corn-field  the  sun's  red  beams  are  cast, 
Where  the  reapers  devour  in  silence  their  eventide  repast. 

See  there  the  fearful  charnel-house,  where  Freedom   garners   her 

grain  ; 

There,  heap'd  like  ears  of  the  harvest,  the  bleaching  bones  remain  ; 
When,  sometime,  the  first  morning  of  the  eternal  spring  draws  near, 
In  its  fulness  then,  oh  Freedom,  thy  harvest  shall  appear ! 

Oh,  Dorneck,  beautiful  Dorneck,  how  dear  thou  art  to  me ! 
How  gladly  does  the  minstrel  return  agajn  to  thee  ! 
Thou  blessed  pair,  that  lingerest  in  the  shades  of  the  linden  tree, 
Long  may'st  thou  look  thus  blessed,  on  a  beautiful  land  and  free  ! 


I  io  KNIGHTS    AND    FREEMEN. 


IV.    TWO    CORPSES. 

jN  Switzerland  lie  the  corpses  of  two  devoted  men, 
The  one  in  the  field  at  Frastenz,  the  other  in  Dorneck's 

glen; 

Both,  in  the  shock  of  battle,  drew  in  pain  their  latest  breath, 
They  nothing  had  in  common — but  nobleness  and  death. 

Like  a  strong  tower  of  rock  was  of  one  the  lofty  form, 
Which  after  a  long  defiance  has  yielded  to  the  storm  ; 
His  heart  a  spent  volcano,  now  feelingless  and  sear, 
With  showers  of  flame  once  menaced  death  to  him  who  ventured 
near. 

The  other  an  ancient  altar,  now  crumbled  for  many  a  year, 
Whereon  the  flame  of  sacrifice  had  once  burn'd  bright  and  clear  ; 
His  heart  the  sun's  mild  image,  where  the  hues  of  the  rainbow  met, 
But  now  the  rainbow  is  faded,  the  sun  in  clouds  is  set. 

One's  eyes  were  closed  by  a  woman,  with  tears  and  sobbings  wild, 
This  woman,  is  it  not  Freedom  ?    It  is  the  old  man's  child. 
In  the  hearts  of  a  grateful  people  his  eulogy  is  read, 
And  his  free  native  country  is  the  monument  of  the  dead. 


TWO     CORPSES.  in 

But  the  other  unlamented,  deserted,  and  alone, 
Is  there  none  to  close  his  eyelids  ?    Does  none  his  fate  bemoan  ? 
Remains  there  nothing  true  to  him?    His  faithful  battle-horse 
Scares  away  the  impatient  ravens  that  gather  round  his  corse. 

The  one  was  proud  as  a  monarch,  and  yet  he  was  only  a  hind  ; 

Freer  than  monarch  the  other,  yet  just  and  of  simple  mind  : 

The   Swiss  says — "  There  lies  Wohlleb" — pride  mantling  in  his 

cheeks, 
"  And  here  the  Furstenberger  " — with  a  shudder  as  he  speaks. 

A  little  chest,  where  Freedom  might  her  bridal  favours  store, 
The  coffin  of  one  resembles — whose  lid  this  legend  bore  ; 
"  I'm  a  free-born  son  of  Switzerland,  and  Harry  Wohlleb  hight, 
This  little  house,  and  its  tenant,  stand  only  in  God's  might." 

Bedeck'd  with  blood-bought  jewels,  for  a  prince's  coffer  fit, 
Was  the  coffin  of  the  other,  on  which  these  words  were  writ : — 
"  My  life  belong'd  to  my  monarch,  my  soul  to  its  source  divine, 
My  heart  was  given  to  woman,  and  honour  alone  was  mine." 

Oh,  Honour,  Princes,  Woman  !    Is  this  your  guerdon,  indeed  ? 
Is  thy  scorn  spat  on  the  tombstone,  oh,  world,  thine  only  meed  ? 
Ye  twain  sleep  softly — but  tell  me,  ye  who  yet  watch  and  weep, 
As  Wohlleb  or  as  Furstenberg,  would  you  sleep  the  eternal  sleep  ? 


U2  KNIGHTS    AND    FREEMEN. 


V.    FREEDOM. 


HO  is  it  that  to  Max  now  may  bring  the  fatal  story, 
Of  the  slaughter  of  his  army,  on  this  day  so  dark  and 

gory  ? 

It  is  the  wise  Pirkheimer,  who  fought  a  noble  fight, 
With-  pen  and  sword  alike,  for  the  cause  of  truth  and  right. 

How  did  the  prince  receive  it  ?    Was  he  overwhelm'd  with  woe  ? 
In  tears  did  he  deplore  it  ?    Despair,  indeed  ?    Ah  !  no  ! 
.The  owl  shrieks  when  the  archer  through  her  breast  the  arrow  wings  ; 
The  royal  swan,  though  wounded  to  the  death,  groans  not,  but — 
sings. 

The  king  embark'd  at  Kostnitz,  in  the  dead  hour  of  night, 
Before  him  the  lake  so  quiet,  above  him  the  stars  so  bright ! 
The  moon  in  his  eye  look'd  softly,  as  if  she  spake  from  her  heart, 
"  In  my  day,  methinks,  I  have  noticed  full  many  a  sharper  smart." 

The  waves,  too,  seem'd  to  whisper  as  they  play'd  about  his  prow  : 
"  We  have  borne  on  our  bosom  many  a  one  more  to  be  pitied  than 

thou  ;" 

And  the  winds,  with  a  coaxing  flattery,  wafted  into  his  ear — 
"  We  have  oftentimes  before  this  dried  many  a  bitter  tear." 


FREEDOM.  113 

And  as  the  prince  in  the  morning  on  shore  at  Lindau  went, 

The  rosy  dawn  caressingly  over  his  pale  cheeks  bent, 

As  if  from  her  azure  canopy  of  air  she  stoop'd  to  say — 

"  Many  pale  cheeks  I  have  redden'd,  cheeks  paler  than  thine  to-day." 

Clear  as  the  empyrean,  as  the  moonshine  pure  and  light, 
Like  the  lake's  unruffled  surface,  Max's  soul  is  calm  and  bright ; 
The  mists  from  his  heart  are  lifted,  for  home  and  peace  are  found  ; 
He  bows  his  head  to  the  strand — he  kisses  the  German  ground. 

The  mountains  of  Switzerland  gorgeously  glisten  before  the  prince  ; 
Thus  many  a  monarch  and  minstrel  have  seen  them  before   and 

since  ; 

Hail  to  the  noble  monarch,  to  his  happy  people  hail ! 
When  he  looks  in  the  face  of  Freedom  with  an  eye  that  does  not 

quail. 


But  where  may  now  the  Victors,  the  patriot  Switzers,  be  ? 
Where,  now,  is  the  camp  of  the  heroes  ?  what  their  meed  of  victory  ? 
Where  sounds  the  song  that  burneth  with  freedom's  deathless  flame  ? 
Where  do  these  brave  men  build  themselves  their  monument  of  fame? 

Q 


ii4  KNIGHTS    AND    FREEMEN. 

See  there  the  milking  cow-herd,  the  fisher  here  in  his  skiff, 
The  ploughman  and  the  reaper,  the  hunter  upon  the  cliff; 
You  see  the  heroes  already — to  seek  them  there  is  no  need, 
Around  a  free  air  and  free  country — these  are  the  victor's  meed. 

Hark !  the  goblet  clinks  at  the  table,  in  the  wood  the  rifle  cracks, 
Twangs  the  horn  of  the  Alpine  shepherd,  ring  the  blows  of  the 

woodman's  axe ; 

Here  the  tinkle  from  Alpine  herds,  there  the  peal  of  the  vesper  bells  ; 
This  is  the  song  of  Freedom  !    How  grandly  its  music  swells  ! 

Truth,  courage,  love,  sincerity,  faith,  loyalty  and  right, 
These  are  the  holy  seven  in  the  blended  ray  of  light ! 
The  colour  of  that  rainbow,  whose  flaming  arch  is  bent, 
High  over  the  Swiss  mountains,  as  Freedom's  Monument ! 


Jftgfjt  at  tjje 

(1503—1505.) 


26 


I.   THE   TREASURE    AT    BURGHAUSEN. 

\  •    * 

IHE  Duke  George  of  Bavaria  lay  on  the  bier  of  the  dead, 

No  coronet  gleam'd  in  mockery  upon  his  hoary  head  ; 
No  son  invoking  blessings  look'd  in  the  sick  man's  eye, 
In  death  to  close  his  eyelids  no  loving  wife  was  by. 

To  whom  now  shall  the  vassals  renew  their  oath  of  fealty  ? 
Who  shall  enjoy  at  Burghausen  the  chattels  and  the  realty  ? 
Hark,  the  rattle  of  shield  and  broadsword  !  is  that  the  funeral  song  ? 
See  hosts  in  mailed  armour  !  is  it  thus  the  mourners  throng  ? 

First,  Albert  of  Bavaria  seized  the  Prince's  coronet, 
Such  was  the  will  of  the  dead  man  !  on  whom  would  it  better  set  ? 
And  Robert,  the  youthful  Palsgrave,  Burghausen  storms  with  the  cry, 
"  If  I  only  clutch  the  fur  first,  I'll  manage  the  hat  by  and  bye !" 


Ii6  THE    FIGHT   AT    THE    GRAVE. 

Approached  King  Max's  herald,  who  aloud  to  the  fighters  said, 
"  At  once  lay  down  your  weapons,  break  not  the  peace  of  the  dead  ; 
I  have  not  given  laws  to  the  empire  that  they  should  be  made  a 

game, 
So  I  summon  you  both  to  the  throne  to  present  a  peaceful  claim." 

Now  Albert  lays  his  coronet  before  the  feet  of  the  King, 

"  Before  your  throne,  my  sovereign  and  judge,  my  rights  I  bring  :" 

But  Robert  of  Burghausen  laughs  in  his  sleeve  the  while, 

"  You  minniken  King,  these  antics  but  serve  to  make  me  smile." 

In  the  treasury  at  Burghausen  stand  many  chests  of  gold, 
Which  precious  metals  and  brilliants  and  gems  and  jewels  hold  ; 
And,  fashion'd  of  pure  silver,  around  like  sentries  stand, 
In  twelve  colossal  statues,  the  apostolic  band. 

"  Welcome,  good  sirs,"  said  Robert,  "  I  honour  your  condition, 
Yet  it  seems  to  me,  right  slackly  you  execute  your  mission  ; 
The  Lord  said  to  you,  '  Go  out  now  and  spread  abroad  My  word,' 
But  for  years  outside  this  palace  I'm  sure  you  have  never  stirr'd." 

"  True  to  your  master's  calling,  I  now  will  send  you  forth 

On  a  pilgrimage  and  preachment  to  the  south,  and  to  the  north." 


THE    TREASURE    AT  BURGHAUSEN.       117 

So  doom'd  to  a  second  martyrdom  in  the  furnace's  roar  and  flash, 
He  melted  the  twelve  apostles,  and  coin'd  them  into  cash. 

Then  abroad  in  all  directions  the  silver  pieces  glisten'd, 
How  powerful  was  their  preaching !  how  gladly  the  people  listen'd ! 
And  no  sooner  very  gently  had  they  knock'd  at  Kuffstein's  gate, 
Than  Pinzenauer  open'd  it — too  civil  to  let  them  wait. 

The  golden  keys  of  the  fortress  he  sends  to  Sir  Robert  duly, 

"  Most  potent  prince,  I  find  you  a  wonderful  locksmith  truly :" 

Bohemia  sent  her  strong  men — Bohemia,  land  of  strength, 

"  Your  foes  shall  feel  our  daggers,  and  measure  our  lances'  length." 

Came  the  mountaineer  of  Hairiault :  My  arm  belongs  to  thee ! 
Came  the  chivalry  of  Luxembourg  :  And  thine  our  banners  be  ! 
As  they  throng'd  in  the  time  of  Peter  to  Zion's  holy  hill, 
So  from  far  and  near  the  pilgrims  the  castle  of  Robert  fill. 

Arouse  ye,  Max  and  Albert !  ye  champions  good  and  brave ! 
Now  the  warm  fur  is  Robert's,  the  hat  may  be  hard  to  save. 
Ah,  sturdy  Count,  it  may  be  you  are  safe  from  Max  to-day ; 
But  a  Captain — little  looked  for — now  mingles  in  the  fray ! 


Ii8  THE    FIGHT   AT    THE    GRAVE. 

Victor  in  every  land,  he  remains  still  unsubdued, 

His  castle  is  impregnable,  though  a  little  house  of  wood  ! 

He  looks  on  thee,  thou  art  pallid,  and  he  kisses  away  thy  breath. 

And  the  Captain  who  assails  thee,  the  name  of  the  Captain  is  Death, 

Who  is  it  by  Robert's  coffin,  the  man  with  snow-white  hair  ? 
It  would  almost  seem  that  Robert  himself  were  kneeling  there, 
So  grim  he  looks  and  defiant,  with  his  powerful  fist  clench'd  tight ; 
Only  it  seems  as  if  sorrow  had  made  him  old  in  a  night. 

That  is  the  Palsgrave's  father.     He  rose  and  snatch'd  the  brand, 
With  a  grasp  quick  and  convulsive,  from  his  dead  son's  icy  hand ; 
"  Thy  pale  cheek  I  cannot  re-colour,  but  thy  sword  I  will  dye  red, 
Up,  up!  ye  warriors,  follow  me,  Sir  Robert  is  not  dead!" 


II.    THE   BOHEMIAN   FIGHT. 


S  the  sun  sank  slow  and  golden  adown  its  western  track, 
It  look'd  on  two  encampments  in  the  field  of  Mengesbach  ; 
Two  glaciers  saw  impending  over  a  lovely  vale, 
Which  shall  thunder  down  an  avalanche,   in   the  sweep    of    the 
morrow's  gale. 


THE    BOHEMIAN    FIGHT.  119 

One  of  the  camps  as  quiet  as  Carthusian  convent  lay, 

Not  a  sound  above  a  whisper  was  heard  from  that  arm'd  array ; 

Two  men  were  passing  silently  from  silent  tent  to  tent, 

The  men  seem'd  Max  and  Albert,  on  earnest  business  bent. 

But  things  went  on  right  merrily  in  the  camp  on  the  other  side,, 
There  was  singing,  there  was  ringing,  as  if  it  were  Carnival  tide  ; 
Here  one  his  broadsword  sharpen'd,  there  another  snored  by  its  side, 
While  a  third  sang  to  his  charger — "  Oh,  would  you  were  my  bride  !" 

The  Bohemian  lounged  by  his  beer  and  the  Palatine  sat  by  his  wine, 
The  moon  from  the  swarthy  welkin  peer'd  out  with  a  pallid  shine ; 
"  How  it  trembles,  up  above  there,  like  a  timid  little  maid, 
A  cowardly  companion — of  the  show  of  blood  afraid." 

"  Yes,  blood  is  our  business  to-morrow  " — the  many  tipplers  roar ; 
"  Three  German  cowards  I'll  do  for  " — "  and  I  will  gobble  up  four ;" 
"  Drink  good  luck  to  Bohemia ! "  and  they  drink  it  with  all  their 

might, 
Far  and  wide  the  clink  of  the  goblets  resounds  through  the  sombre 

night. 

And  higher  the  moon  ascending,  slow  on  its  eastern  track, 

Still  looks  on  the  two  encampments  in  the  field  of  Mengesbach  ; 


120  THE    FIGHT   A  T    THE    GRA  VE. 

Two  brothers  sees  in  the  distance,  who  in  sweet  slumber  rest, — 
The  dagger  of  one  to-morrow  shall  pierce  the  other's  breast. 

"  Ye  Bohemian  musicians,  strike  up  the  hop  and  the  reel!" 

Now  with  jovial  steps  the  tipplers  in  dizzy  circles  wheel  ; 

Hark  !   hark  !    to  the  drums  and  the  trumpets  !    And  a  voice  the 

crowd  salutes, 
"Why  blend  the  blast  of  the  trumpets  with  the  music  of  the  flutes  ?" 

And  hark  again  !    A  mortar  in  the  field  loud  thundering  rang, 
And  forth  from  his  tent  in  a  moment  the  old  Count  Palatine  sprang ; 
"  I  know  this  voice  full  surely!    'Tis  the  nightingale  of  Max, 
Its  song  to  the  full  moon  singing.     How  the  music  crashes  and 
cracks  !" 

The  mortars  thunder  louder,  and  the  broadswords  rattle  and  ring, 
You  may  dance  and  we'll  make  the  music — we'll  pipe  for  you  and 

sing; 

While  the  cry  of  "  Max  and  Albert"  louder  and  deeper  breaks, 
And    the    camp    from    its    hurly-burly    like    the   trump    of   the 

judgment  wakes. 

Then  from  their  tents  they  stagger'd,  and  for  sword  and  shield  ran 
wild, 


THE    BOHEMIAN    FIGHT.  121 

St.  Nepomuk  to  the  rescue !     St.  Wenzel,  be  kind  and  mild  ! 
Then  one,  in  seeking  his  helmet,  took  a  pot  from  the  hearth  instead, 
And  one  broke  his  fiddle  to  pieces  on  the  first  best  comer's  head. 

Yet  bravely  fought  the  Palsgrave — for  two  his  good  sword  fell. 
And  the  arm  of  the  grey  old  hero  the  shade  of  the  son  guides  well ; 
Now  rallying  around  him  the  gallant  warriors  close, — 
For  where  Bohemians  battle  there  is  never  lack  of  blows.  - 

Who  lies  there  under  his  charger,  in  the  very  thick  of  the  frav  ? 
It  is  the  King !    God  help  him  !  for  he  needs  God's  help  to-day : 
Who  hews — his  guardian  angel !  a  path  to  him  with  his  sword  ? 
In  battle  and  victory  famous — that  is  Eric,  Brunswick's  lord  ! 

Hush'd  is  the  roar  of  the   mortars.     Clouds  of  dust  obscure  the 

skies, 

When  the  prince,  again  in  safety,  to  the  heavens  lifts  up  his  eyes  : 
Before  him  stand  Eric  and  Albert, — their  faces  beam  with  delight, 
With  fervour  both  exclaiming, — "  We  conquer  in  the  fight." 

The  hand  of  his  preserver  the  King  presses  gently  now, 
"  Seest  thou  the  star  of  morning  on  the  blue  heaven's  distant  brow  ? 
Like  that  star,  a  welcome  messenger,  I  saw  thee  come'to  save. — 
Henceforth  on  thy  escutcheon  its  smiling  image  grave." 

R 


122  THE    FIGHT    A  T     THE     GRA  VE. 

Higher  mounts  the  star  of  morning  in  the  Orient's  flecker' d  rack, 
And  it  sees  two  camps  no  longer  in  the  field  of  Mengesbach  ; 
But  it  sees  two  glaciers  crumbled  on  a  desolated  plain, 
And  sees  two  brothers  lying  there,  by  brothers'  daggers  slain. 


III.     MAX    BEFORE    KUFFSTEIN. 

JROM  Kufifstein's  giant  ramparts  Pinzenauer  turns  his  eye, 
With  scorn  and  proud  defiance,  where  Max's  legion?  lie ; 
As  a  vulture  from  his  eyrie,  with  an  eye  that  does  not 
quail, 
Sees  a  hunter  aim  his  rifle  in  the  deep  and  .distant  vale. 

Serenely  calm  and  confident,  Max  lifts  a  glance  on  high, 
Where  Kufifstein's  rocky  battlements  stand  out  against  the  sky ; 
As  the  hunter  from  the  valley  looks  up  to  the  vulture's  nest, 
"  The  rifle  well  may  carry  where  the  foot  has  never  prest." 

From  a  hundred  mortars  upwards  fly  thundering  ball  on  ball. 
Powerless,  trackless,  from  the  parapets  rebounding  rattle  all ; 


MAX    BEFORE    KUFFSTEIN.  123 

As  the  showers  of  early  blossoms  on  burnish'd  armour  play, 
Or  as  on  the  rocks  of  ocean  is  dash'd  the  crested  spray. 

There  they  saw  the  Pinzenauer  on  the  ramparts  take  his  stand, 
With  a  stout  bundle  of  switches  that  he  carried  in  his  hand  ; 
Where  the  shot  of  the  besieger  struck,  in  scorn  he  downward  bent, 
And  with  his  broom  of  switches  swept  the  dingy  battlement 

"  Ay,  ay,  thou  mocking  raven,  take  care  of  thyself,"  cried  Max, 
"  Look  from  thy  bundle  of  switches  there  does  not  leap  an  axe ;" 
His  eye  the  while  flash'd  lightning,  for  his  spirit  was  sorely  stirr'd, 
Deeper  wounds  than  the  keenest  stiletto  the  stab  of  a  scornful 
word. 

Now  rattling  over  the  fortress  the  pitch-smear'd  garlands  fly, 
In  vain, — for  light  and  harmless  on  the  unscathed  walls  they  lie  ; 
While  the  Pinzenauer  leisurely  thereby  his  viands  drest  ; 
"  Patience,"  cried  Max,  "  I'll  presently  send  hunger  as  your  guest." 

Thus  for  three  weeks  together  Max  in  his  tent  held  rest, 
Already  hunger  invites  himself  to  his  table  as  a  guest : 
Did  not  Max  promise  to  send  him  as  a  guest  to  Kuffstein's  door  ? 
Whom   man   employs   as  a  messenger,  he  must   prove    himself 
before. 


124  THE    FIGHT    AT     THE     GRAVE. 

Among  the  tents  there's  a  clamour.    What  means  this  noisy  tramp  ? 
See  herds  and  herdsmen  crowding  into  the  royal  camp  : 
"  Hans  Pinzenauer  sends  greeting,  and  spares  what  spare  he  may, 
So  that  for  once  your  majesty  may  have  a  plenteous  day." 

Now,  though  in  patience  abounding,  Max  felt  his  patience  fail, 
You  could  hear  the  heart-throb  sounding  beneath  his  coat  of  mail ; 
"  It  is  time,"   quoth  he,  "  incontinently,  this    nest   of  traitors   to 

break  up  ; " 
So  he  sent  to  his  Innsbruck  arsenal  for  Purlepaus  and  Wake-up. i7 

The  king  who  wielded  the  sceptre  the  match-cord  seized  instead, 
And  he  wielded  the  one  and  the  other  with  a  master's  hand  and 

head ; 
On  the  throne  there  was  'no  monarch  his  equal  in  splendour  and 

might, 
On  the  field  of  battle  his  equal  in  courage  and  strength  no  knight. 

The  walls  of  Kuffstein  tremble  where  his  death-dealing  volleys 

sweep, 

His  Wake-up  instead  of  waking  sends  many  a  soul  to  sleep ; 
His  Purlepaus  into  the  bulwarks  strikes  with  resounding  din, 
Huzza  !  the  giant  ramparts  loud  thundering  tumble  in. 


MAX    BEFORE    KUFFSTElti.  125 

Lo,  shining  in  robes  of  satin,  with  their  peaceful  wands  of  green, 
Issuing  forth  from  the  castle,  two  boys  in  white  are  seen, 
As  the  first  two  blossoms  budding  in  the  genial  breath  of  spring, — • 
But  they  meet  a  stern  and  menacing  dismissal  from  the  King. 

The  gates  of  the  castle  are  open'd  and  issues  thence  again, 
In  procession  slow  and  solemn,  an  earnest  band  of  men  ; 
A  hero  firm  and  gloomy,  Hans  Pinzenauer  before, 
His  beard  was  long  and  swarthy,  and  black  the  garb  he  wore. 

Ah  !  how  on  Max's  forehead  the  clouds  converging  lie, 

His  face  glows  as  the  tempest  that  lurks  in  the  evening  sky : 

Like   the   shine   of  the   fiery  lightning   his  blue  eye  flames  and 

quivers, 
Woe  to  the  head  of  the  doom'd  one  the  forked  lightning  shivers ! 

The  warriors  tremble — never  had  they  seen  him  in  this  vein, 
With  timid  eyes  and  downcast  in  silence  they  remain  ; 
In  the  solemn  circle  echoing  resounds  his  fatal  word, 
As  in  the  wood  the  echo  of  the  thunderbolt  is  heard. 

"  Up !   whet  thine  axe,  thou  headsman !    Death  be  their  guerdon 

meet, 
This  humble  garb  of  repentance  ill  suits  their  scoffing  conceit : 


126  THE    FIGHT  A  T    THE    GRA  VE. 

I'll  brook  no  intercession — who  to  plead  for  them  appears, 
My  fist  a  tingling  answer  shall  write  about  his  ears." 

"  My  prince,  I  will  not  entreat  thee  to  spare  my  worthless  life, 
Long  have  my  treasures  mouldered — my  father,  child,  and  wife  : 
My  heart  and  garb  betoken  that  for  me  no  sun  may  shine, — » 
I  beg  for  one  thing  only — a  goblet  full  of  wine." 

So  spake  the  Pinzenauer — his  firm  hand  did  not  fail, 

As  the  monarch  he  confronted  his  cheek  did  not  grow  pale  ; 

Like  a  crucifix  of  bronze  on  a  marble  monument, 

Such  sadness  and  solemnity,  with  strength  and  firmness  blent ! 

"  My  king,  to  thy  good  fortune !  I  pray  thee,  deeply  think, 
How  full  it  is  of  meaning,  when  one  on  the  next  world's  brink, 
From  his  heart's  depth  sincerely  can  pray  God  save  King  Max!" 
He  spoke  and  without  blenching  bowed  his  head  to  the  bloody  axe. 

Ten  of  his  true  companions  follow  his  fatal  path, 
On  the  king's  visage  pity  now  takes  the  place  of  wrath  : 
To  show  his  enemies  mercy  the  king  is  nothing  loth, 
And  silently  he  imprecates  the  hasty,  wicked  oath. 

"  Hold,  hold,  my  prince,"  cried  Eric  of  Brunswick,  undismay'd, 
"  Though  it  may  rouse  your  anger,  the  word  must  yet  be  said ; 


MAX   BEFORE    KUFF STEIN.  127 

Away  with  your  bloody  sergeants,  and  wash  from  the  axe  its  stains, 
That   is  wet  with  the   blood,  and   the   best   blood,  that    flows  in 
human  veins. 

"  For  cowards  and  for  scoundrels,  not  the  bold  and  brave  in  fight, 
Is  the  headsman's  block  made  ready,  and  the  headsman's  axe  made 

bright, 

If  for  bravery  and  boldness  this  be  the  guerdon  due, 
His  axe  bid  the  headsman  sharpen,  first  of  all,  my  King,  for  you." 

True  to  his  oath,  Max  gave  him  a  gentle  blow  on  the  ear, 

Gave  his  hand  a  gentle  pressure,  to  his  breast  then  drew  him  near ; 

"  Thanks,  thanks,  my  noble  Eric,  the  brave  word  comes  from  the 

heart, 
Let  the  rest  unharm'd  and  scathless  from  hence  in  peace  depart." 

The  little  church  of  Ainleffen,  near  Kuffstein,  marks  to-day, 
The  spot  where  by  Max's  bidding  the  bones  of  the  victims  lay ; 
And  once  when  he  came  to  Tyrol,  thereafter, — in  fervent  prayer 
Tradition  tells  that  a  peasant  saw  the  king  kneeling  there. 

When  Max  came  home  victorious  with  music  and  with  song, 
Appear'd  an  humble  poet  in  the  courtiers'  golden  throng ; 
And  begged  them  to  his  majesty  in  a  laurel  wreath  to  take  up 
An  elegant  little  poem  on  Purlepaus  and  Wake-up  ! 


128  THE    FIGHT   AT    THE    GRAVE. 


IV.     THE   PEACE   BANQUET. 

|T  Cologne  the  Palsgrave  cordially  to  Albert  gave  his  hand, 
And  King  Max  as  mediator  drew  close  the  friendly  band  ; 
Now  each  was  well  contented — with  all  that  he  could  get, — 
The  Palsgrave  took  Burghausen — Albert  the  Coronet. 

Max  gave  an  evening  banquet  to  the  lords  and  their  array, 
For  the  monarch  loved  to  mingle  the  serious  and  the  gay ; 
As  men  the  gloomy  sepulchre  with  wreaths  of  roses  twine, 
And  deck  the  solemn  altar  with  the  pendant  lustre's  shine. 

There  is  dancing,  there  is  masking,  and  jovial  song  resounds, 
There  are  pastimes  without  number,  there  is  revelling  without  bounds  ; 
While  the  re-united  princes,  with  jest  and  laughter  loud, 
And  arm  in  arm  enfolded,  are  sauntering  through  the  crowd. 

Then  from  the  circle  of  maskers  the  princes  stepp'd  before 

A  form  in  the  guise  of  Ganymede,  who  a  brace  of  goblets  bore ; 

One  was  a  golden  goblet,  of  metal  pure  and  bright, 

A  hollow  skull  the  other,  smooth-rubb'd,  and  ghastly  white. 


THE    PEACE    BANQUET.  129 

*'  A  glass  at  this  hour  may  suit  you,  my  masters,  I  opine, 
One  fluid  fills  both  chalices — wine,  clear  and  luscious  wine  ; 
But  the  frame-work  is  dissimilar — it  is  for  you  to  choose,'  — 
Both  princes  seize  the  goblet  and  the  hollow  skull  refuse. 

"  I'd  have  wager'd  any  money  that  you  the  skull  had  chosen," 
(Between  ourselves)  the  speaker  was  Conrad  von  der  Rosen  ; 
"  It  was  much  more  in  your  fashion," — thus  he  ventures  on  his  jeers, 
And  again  in  the  crowd  of  maskers  like  a  shadow  disappears. 

Thereupon,  in  the  garb  of  a  herald,  to  the  princes  a  man  drew  nigh, 
To  recognize  King  Max  in  him  required  no  curious  eye ; 
The  shoulders  of  both  princes  he  deck'd  with  a  scarf  of  price, 
Whereon  stood  a  double  eagle  inwoven  with  this  device : 

"  Of  heads,  to  the  German  Eagle,  we  do  not  give  a  pair, 

That  one  head  may  bite  the  other,  and  the  common  plumage  tear ; 

That  it  may  see  in  the  distance  the  dangers  that  arise, 

For  this  the  German  Eagle  has  a  double  pair  of  eyes." 


Cfje 


28 


I.    THE  LEAGUE  OF  THE  PRINCES. 

|WO  allied  hosts  are  lying  in  the  fields  round  Terouenne, 
Hate  of  the  French  has  rallied  these  camps  of  armdd 

men; 

Here  the  serried  might  of  England  to  the  breeze  its  banner  flings, 
And  Germany's  double  eagle  unfolds  its  mighty  wings. 

The  Rhine  severs  French  and  Germans.     What  steed,  oh  Germany, 
With  bold  spring  carried  thereover  the  sword  of  vengeance  and 

thee  ? 

Hate  was  the  high-mettled  leaper,  the  charger  of  swarthy  wing ; 
Love  only,  the  bird  with  the  olive,  outflies  his  venturous  spring. 


THE    LEAGUE    OF    THE    PRINCES.         131 

A  sea  severs  French  and  Britons.     And  who  the  sea  has  spann'd, 
With  a  bridge,  for  the  hosts  of  England  to  enter  the  Frenchman's 

land  ? 

Hate  is  the  name  of  the  builder,  who  bridges  both  stream  and  sound, 
Love  only  builds  more  grandly — for  his  building,  look  around  ! 

Before  the  camp  of  their  people  sauntereth  a  noble  pair. 
Harry  the  youthful  Briton,  and  Max  with  snow-white  hair ; 
And  wide  and  smooth  extended,  like  a  lake  before  their  eyes, 
From  Terouenne  to  Guinegate  a  field  for  battle  lies. 

By  Harry's  side  strode  Talbot,  as  in  Heaven's  tent  appear 
Red  Mars  the  bloody  planet  and  silver  Hesperus  near  ; 
See  Conrad  von  der  Rosen  by  the  side  of  his  master  follow, 
As  the  placid  star  of  morning  attendeth  on  Apollo. 

As  Max  looks  round  reflecting,  what  thoughts  his  spirit  strike ! 

How.  in  this  world  of  ours  are  the  new  and  the  old  alike  ! 

• 

Since  I  won  here  my  first  victory  some  thirty  years  have  past, 
It  may  be  that  to-morrow  I  here  may  win  my  last. 

See  there  the  castle's  bulwarks,  the  belfry,  tower  and  gate ; 
See  here  the  plain  extended, — the  past  is  the  present's  mate  ; 
The  earth  and  the  face  of  the  heavens  the  self-same  aspect  wear, 
Only  wider  is  the  grave-yard,  and  whiter  is  my  hair. 


i32  THE    LAST    VICTORY. 

And  yet  how  changed !  generation  to  generation  succeeds, 
Oft  has  the  harvest  been  gather' d,  oft  has  spring  sown  its  seeds ; 
The  air  has  storm'd  and  whisper'd,  the  sun  has  risen  and  set, 
But  through  the  plain  remorseless  stalks  the  old  hatred  yet. 

Then  interrupted  Harry,  "  Look,  you  must  not  forget, 

Love  binds  our  arms  together,  a  priceless  amulet : 

No  time,  however  distant,  this  friendly  league  shall  sever," — 

Max  pressed  him  to  his  heart, — "  It  shall  live,  my  friend,  for  ever ! " 

In  silence  serene  and  sober  now  stand  the  royal  pair, 
Deep,  azure,  clear  and  silent  broods  the  eternal  air ; 
The  plains  about  are  silent,  so  level  and  so  wide, 
Dumb  echoes  of  Forever !  they  seem  on  every  side. 

When  in  the  sombre  cathedral  the  notes  of  the  organ  ring, 
And  sounds  the  solemn  Sanctus,  like  the  whisper'd  breath  of  spring; 
Some  loud  sneezer  in  the  pauses  the  cathedral  music  mars, 
What  becomes  then  of  the  ecstasy  that  swept  us  to  the  stars  ? 

So  Conrad  now  winks  and  twitches,  and  writhes  and  wrinkles  hb 

brow, 

He  has  something  to  disburthen,  it  must  never  out  or  now ; 
Jingling  his  caps  and  bells  there,  he  cries  right  merrily, 
"  Let  me  hear  how  old,  my  princes,  you  imagine  me  to  be." 


THE    LEAGUE    OF    THE    PRINCES.          133 

"  So  old  that  for  growing  wiser  in  faith  there's  little  scope, 
And  yet  at  this  yety  moment  you're  old  enough  for  the  rope ;" 
Thus  snarlingly  and  grimly  the  bitter  Talbot  spoke, 
But  with  friendlier  words  and  gentler,  King  Harry  took  the  joke. 

"  His  teeth  mark  the  age  of  the  courser,  his  antlers  the  age  of  the 

deer, 

Man's  age  is  mark'd  on  his  visage  in  signs  sufficiently  clear ; 
Boy  is  writ  on  your  forehead,  and  man  is  writ  on  your  cheek, 
Which  am  I  to  believe  now  ?    Where  the  truth  lies,  prithee  speak  !" 

The  emperor  Max  then  laughing, — "  If  our  proverb  speak  the  truth, 
With  every  seventh  year  ended,  there's  a  change  in  man  forsooth  ; 
Now  ever  since  I  have  known  you  a  fool  you've  always  been, 
From  which — seven  years  I  reckon  you  never  yet  have  seen." 

"  Ah,  how  you  flatter !    I  number — more  than  two  hundred  year' ; 
Of  the  leagues  of  Blois  and  Cambray  I  stand  survivor  here  ; 
Each  of  these  leagues  was  made  for  a  century — you  see — 
But  now  you  make  me  hope  for  a  full — eternity." 


I34  THE    LAST    VICTORY. 


II.     GUINEGATE. 

(HERE  stood  the  allied  armies,  drawn  up  in  battle  array, 
And  France's  legions  opposite  on  the  field  of  Guinegate 

lay; 

The  weight  of  his  shining  helmet  Max  lifted  from  his  head, 
With  quick 'step  strode  before  them,  and  to  his  soldiers  said  : 

"  Ye  warriors  never  conquer'd,  do  you  recognize  this  face  ? 

Its  features  through  Time's  bleaching  and  Time's  furrows  can  you 

trace  ? 

Ask  of  these  well-known  battle-fields  if  they  remember  it  not ! 
Ask  of  the  hosts  before  us, — by  Heavens,  they've  scarce  forgot ! 

"  Yet  never  will  this  visage  before  their  glances  pale, 

This  eye  meets  theirs  with  a  courage  and  a  hate  that  never  quail ; 

And  when  the  crown  of  victory  encircles  this  grey  hair, 

It  becomes  the  head  right  royally,  if  the  locks  be  grey  or  fair. 

"  Inscribe  your  names,  my  brothers,  this  day  in  the  Book  of  Glory, 
Your  ink  the  blood  of  your  enemy,  let  the  sword  record  your  story  : 


GUINEGATE.  135 

My  sword !  long-tried  and  faithful,  this  day  remain  the  same, 

Oft  already  as  a  plough-share  thou  hast  plough'd  the  field  of  fame. 

"  And  thou,  my  faithful  war-horse,  my  comrade  in  the  fight, 
Full  often  hast  thou  borne  me  where  victory's  path  was  bright : 
Thanks  !  thanks  !  once  more  the  greybeard  in  his  last  battle  bear, 
To  the  goal  of  the  bloody  race-course !     The  Prize  now  beckons 
there." 

And  as  the  German  emperor  his  limbs  in  the  saddle  swung, 
Shouts  of  "  Hail,  Maximilian  !"  from  the  hosts  assembled  rung  ; 
A  dark  cloud  at  the  moment  o'er  the  face  of  the  heavens  past, 
Which  mask'd  the  azure  welkin,  and  a  baleful  shadow  cast. 

"  Ho,  brothers  !  behold  the  heavens  themselves  come  to  our  aid, 
As  they  share  between  the  combatants  the  equal  light  and  shade ; 
Then  up  !  the  shade's  refreshing  in  the  hot  hours  of  fight, 
When   the   conqueror  turns   homeward,   his   path   may  again  be 
bright." 

The  trumpets  bray,  and  the  legions  storm  on  exultingly, 
The  banners  over  them  floating  like  sea-gulls  over  the  sea ; 
The  ranks  close  pressed  together  the  mounted  squadrons  form, 
And  on  with  the  infantry,  shielded  by  a  forest  of  halberds,  storm. 


136  THE    LAST     VICTORY. 

Ah,  how  in  battle  the  emperor  struck  about,  never  tired  ! 

Like  a  dancer  on  Shrove  Tuesday  with  the  whirl  and  the  music 

fired ; 

How  like  the  tongue  of  a  tiger  his  sword  lapped  the  crimson  gore, 
How  proudly  the  long-maned  charger  his  gallant  master  bore  ! 

And  forward,  irresistible,  forward  storms  the  dense  array, 
The  Frenchmen  spur  their  horses  and  throw  their  weapons  away  ; 
Ye  gallant  sons  of  France,  now,  I  pray  you  look  to  your  skin, 
Your  sword  sticks  to  its  scabbard!     Some  rogue  may  have  glued 
it  in. 

Looking  on  from  a  hill  in  the  distance,  Sir  Conrad  stood  at  leisure : 
"  I  should  see  for  once  in  a  life-time  a  fight  with  so  much  pleasure  ! 
All  the  way  up  here  I've  clamber'd,"  (and  here  I'm  afraid  he 

swears,) 
"  In  the  hope  of  seeing  a  battle, — but  it's  only  a  hunt  of  hares." 

The  roar  of  the  mortars  slacken'd,  and  hush'd  was  the  weapons' 

clang, 

Instead  of  the  cries  of  battle,  the  conqueror's  clarion  rang ; 
Clouds  of  dust  the  course  envelop  where  the  harried  Frenchmen 

run, 
While  the  Germans  shout  exulting, — Hurrah,  the  victory's  won ! 


GUINEGATE.  137 

That  day  the  Germans  and  Britons  in  amity  join'd  hands, 

And  the  haughty  neck  of  the  Frenchman  trod  in  the  bloody  sands ; 

The  Battle  of  the  Spurs  they  call  it  even  to  the  present  day, 

As  instead  of  his  sword  the  Frenchman  put  only  his  spurs  in  play. 

His  horse  stagger' d  dead  in  the  saddle  as  Max  leap'd  from  his  back, 
As  he  thrust  it  into  the  scabbard,  he  heard  his  old  sword  crack  ; 
As  if  both  spake  like  warning,  This  victory  is  your  last ! 
And  his  heart  too  said,  foreboding,  Your  day  of  victory's  past ! 

Then  smiling  Max  in  sadness,  "  The  faithful  ploughshare  breaks, 
The  plough-horse  dies, — with  feebleness  the  arm  of  the  ploughman 

•   shakes ; 

The  bloody  field  of  glory  I  have  plough'd  for  the  last  time, 
May  my  field  be  found  not  seedless  in  the  spring  of  eternal  prime ! " 

As  home  return  the  squadrons  with  songs  of  exultation, 
Max  leans  his  head  on  his  bosom  in  silent  contemplation ; 
Then  breaks  from  out  the  weikin  the  sun  s  resplendent  ray, 
And  victory's  green  garland  still  nods  in  his  locks  of  grey. 


138 


THE    LAST    VICTORY. 


III.    THE    PILGRIMAGE. 


STATELY  castle  rises  not  far  from  Terouenne, 
Where  Max  sits  at  a  banquet  with  a  band  of  trusty  men  ; 
The  Abbot  of  Dendermonde,  the  emperor's  ancient  friend, 
And  courtier,  fool  and  warrior  in  the  merry  crowd  attend. 

From  a  pleasant  hunting  party  just  arrived,  the  jovial  throng 
Heard  many  a  hunter's  story,  trill'd  many  a  hunter's  song ; 
The  jolly  jests  of  the  hunter  about  the  table  flew, 
And  at  game  long  since  digested  the  spear  was  hurled  anew. 

Hark,  hark !  the  notes  of  an  anthem  ascend  from  the  vale  below, 
As  pilgrims  in  procession  are  wont  to  sing  as  they  go ; 
And  a  tinkling  chime  in  the  pauses  to  the  castle  softly  swells, — 
Max  rose  from  his  seat  to  listen  to  the  peal  of  the  pilgrims'  bells. 

"  Fill  your  glasses,  quick,  to  a  bumper,  for  heaven's  sake,"  Conrad 

cried, 

And  saluted  his  nearest  neighbour  with  an  elbow  in  his  side ; 
"  To  drown  this  devil's  psalmody  at  the  top  of  your  voices  hollow, 
For  if  Max  gets  wind  of  this  bell  now,  be  sure  he  is  bound  to  follow." 


THE    PILGRIMAGE.  139 

With  a  sharp  but  crystal  ringing  the  glasses  together  rattle, 
"Long  life  to  the  noble  victor  in  the  bloody  Guinegate  battle !" 
Max  lifted  a  menacing  finger  to  Conrad  with  a  smile, 
Bending  his  head  with  courtesy  to  his  merry  guests  the  while. 

"  In  the  victor  you  honour  the  victory,  but  forget  not  the  praises 

belong 

To  Him  who  dispenses  the  victory;  we  are  weak — but  God  is  strong ; 
Hear  the  pilgrims  who  go  to  St.  Alban's  with  music  and  solemn 

song, 
I  propose,  my  friends  and  brothers,  that  we  join  the  pious  throng." 

Spake  Conrad  von  der  Rosen :  "  In  sooth,  I  can  hardly  go ; 
As  I  from  the  hill-top  yonder  look'd  down  on  the  fight  below, 
I  was  kept  so  long  a-standing  that  my  right  leg  is  almost  broke, 
And  my  eyes  the  clouds  of  powder  have  blinded  with  steam  and 
smoke." 

Then  the  equerry  Emershoff  grimly  rose  from  his  seat  and  cried, 
"  Permit  me  to  saddle  the  horses,  as  we  all  will  have  to  ride ; 
For  if  we  go  on  foot  here  in  our  hunting  boots  and  spurs, 
We  shall  get  finely  entangled  in  the  bushes,  briars  and  furze." 

Out  of  his  right-hand  pocket  the  Abbot  a  volume  draws, 
"  This  pilgrimage  I  advise  against,  list  to  the  ancient  saws ; 


140  THE    LAST    VICTORY. 

One  is,  '  Post  prandium  pausa/ — rest  awhile  after  you  eat, 
'  Nee  sta,  nee  mea  sine  causa,' — above  all  a  nap  is  meet." 

Then  seriously  the  emperor :  "  Good  sirs,  your  jesting  spare, 
Who  ever  heard  of  a  patient  that  was  made  the  worse  by  prayer  ? 
Who  enters  a  church  on  horseback  ?  read  me  this  riddle,  I  beg, 
And,  Conrad,  this  pious  pilgrimage  perchance  may  heal  your  leg." 

Forth  from  the  gates  of  the  castle  Max  issues  with  reverend  brow, 
With  a  sourish  mien  and  downcast  the  companions  follow  now ; 
Over  the  pilgrims  unfolded  the  banners  flutter  and  swing, 
And  on  their  way  to  St.  Alban's  the  solemn  anthems  ring. 

Many  a  handsome  gold  piece  Max  gave  the  priest  that  day, 
When  the  pilgrims  return'd  from  the  chapel,  where  they  had  knelt 

to  pray  ; 
The  old  man  stammer'd  his  blessing,  and  his  thanks — "  By  heaven, 

I  wis, 
Since  St.  Alban's  was  St.  Alban's,  it  never  saw  sight  like  this." 

With  lustrous  shine  in  the  heavens  the  constellations  wheel, 
When  the  pilgrims  repair  to  the  tavern  for  a  spicy  evening  meal  ; 
The  dancers  whirl  in  the  mazes — down  outside  and  up  the  middle, 
To  the  sound  of  guitar  and  cymbal,  to  the  sound  of  bagpipe  and 
fiddle. 


THE   PILGRIMAGE.  141 

\\  hat  pretty  maids  there  are,  now  1  Hie,  hie  !  and  three  times  hie ! 
How  the  petticoats  flirt  and  flutter !   And  the  lads  they  are  nothing 

but  eye ! 
In  spite  of  his  spurs  then  Emershoff,  in  the  dust  that  he  raises, 

whirls, 
And  see  how  his  arm  encircles  the  slender  waists  of  the  girls  ! 

In  spite  of  his  lame  leg,  Conrad  kept  very  good  time  in  the  dance, 
In  spite  of, smoked  eyes,  he  squinted  at  the  girls  with  a  merry 

glance ; 

And  a  bumper  toss'd  off  to  the  Abbot,  "  Come,  father,  another  bout ;" 
But,  muttering  his  saws  in  Latin,  the  old  Abbot  trundled  out. 

"  It  is  well  to  rest  at  evening,  Hem  !  hem  !  '  Post  ccenam  stabis,' 
Or  take  an  evening  saunter,  '  aut  mille  passus  meabis' !" 
Then  from  his  left-hand  pocket  a  rosary  he  drew, 
And  up  and  down  he  waddled  in  the  moonlight  and  the  dew. 

Above,  Max  leaned  reflecting,  alone  in  a  quiet  nook, 
Whence  on  the  throng  beneath  him  he  cast  a  smiling  look ; 
And  thought  in  still  home  sickness  of  the  past  and  of  the  far, 
Where  in  youth's  empyrean  shone  life's  serenest  star. 


in  Augsburg. 


I.    ENTRY. 

JHE  heart  of  every  mortal  has  an  atlas  of  its  own  : 
The  places  on  Life's  journey  which  joy  and  love  have 

known, 

A  clear  pure  light  in  the  heavens  points  out  to  him  from  afar, — 
As  over  the  Lord  in  the  manger  the  wise  men  beheld  the  star. 

"  Oh,  star  that  shin'st  over  Augsburg,  how  brightly  thou  point'st  to 

the  place, 

Like  truth  in  the  eye  of  manhood,  like  kindness  in  woman's  face, 
Over  the  days  that  have  vanish'd  blending  the  light  and  the  gloom, 
And  strewing  with  dulcet  promises  the  days  that  are  yet  to  come." 

Thus  Max  to  the  trusty  companions  who  rode  with  him  that  day, 
Before  them  the  lovely  city  in  the  midst  of  the  Lechfeld  lay ; 


ENTR  Y.  143 

But  what  do  they  see  in  the  woods  there  that  looks  so  like  a  camp  ? 
Is  it  the  King  of  the  gipsies  with  his  people  on  a  tramp  ? 

Thereon  replied  Sir  Conrad  :  "  If  I  can  trust  my  eyes, 
There,  with  his  tribe  of  gipsies,  King  Amor's  encampment  lies  : 
But  they  seem  not  bent  upon  travel,  its  toils  their  little  feet  wound, 
What  wonder,  for  vagabond  women  are  lying  there  on  the  ground. 

"  Indeed  the  camp  is  a  marvel,  where  needles  figure  for  lances, 
Where   for  shields — on   the   trees  suspended — mirror  on   mirror 

glances  ; 

Many  arrows  lurk  in  the  pupils  of  eyes  brown,  blue  and  black, 
And  as  light  and  heavy  artillery  the  large  and  little  tongues  clack. 

"If  the  heart  of  every  mortal  has  an  atlas  of  its  own, 
Then  on  their  maps  as  a  comet  this  star  of  yours  is  shown ; 
Like  the  marshal's  rod  in  anger  its  flame  over  Augsburg  burns, 
Reminding  of  bitter  departures,  and  menacing  sad  returns." 

"  That  we  may  share  thy  protection,  homewards,  good  Lord,  be 

pleased," 

Cried  one  of  the  women,  who  gently  the  emperor's  bridle  seized  ; 
"  Oh,  carry  thy  daughters  home  again  to  the  prudent  magistrate, 
To  the  sons  carry  their  sisters,  its  children  to  the  state." 


144  MAX    IN    AUGSBURG. 

Then  the  little  lasses  hung  upon  his  stirrup  and  his  rein, 
Clung  to  the  hem  of  his  garment,  to  his  horse's  tail  and  mane  ; 
The  emperor  permitted  it,  the  while  his  thoughts  might  be, 
"  My  purple  may  shelter  you,  forsooth,  my  grey  hairs  shelter  me  !" 

Thus  rode  thence  the  procession.     Sir  Conrad  rides  in  the  rear, 
And  keeps  up  an  audible  thinking,  that  reaches  his  comrade's  ear : 
"  Oh,  Max,  thou  strangest  of  sportsmen  !     Lo,  the  manner  of  birds 

that  sing, 
In   thy   springes   of  pack-thread   and    horse-hair,   sprawling   and 

fluttering. 

"  Oh,  Max,  thou  strangest  of  gardeners  !     Is't  for  a  tilt  of  roses 
That  the  tail  and  mane  of  your  charger  are  deck'd  with  such  piebald 

posies  ? 
Oh,  Max,  thou  strangest  of  emperors  !     What  a  splendid  guise  you 

wear ! 
What  a  scuffle  among  your  pages  the  tail  of  your  train  to  bear !" 

At  the  gate  stand  the  people  and  council.     And  they  all  think  it 

vastly  queer, 

As  the  emperor  and  Amor's  gipsies  in  this  strange  fashion  appear ; 
But  around  them  wave  in  protection  his  mantle's  ample  folds, 
As  all  of  us  Love  all-powerful  in  his  embraces  holds. 


MAX    AND    DURER.  145 


II.     MAX    AND    DURER.29 

RINCE,  soldier-lad,  knight,  and  swindler,  in  the  city  of 

Augsburg  meet, 
In  the  hall  the  councillors  brawling,  and  the  people  in  the 

street ; 

While  Want  is  abroad  in  the  land,  here  crowds  in  the  taverns  riot ; 
This  thing,  what  do  you  call  it  ?     It  is  the  Imperial  Diet. 

Max  stood  at  the  window  gazing — on  the  tumultuous  scene, 

When  enter'd  in  homely  doublet  a  man  of  modest  mien  ; 

"Why,  Master  Diirer,  God  bless  you!"  said  Max  with  a  joyous 

start, 
"  How  comes  my  Apelles  to  Babel  ?     To  the  Diet  how  cometh 

Art?" 

"  I've  only  one  favour  to  beg,  my  lord,"  the  modest  master  said, 
"  And  may  it  be  kindly  granted," — and  he  humbly  bow'd  his  head  ; 
"  I  would  once  more  paint  your  portrait,  and  make  of  it,  in  sooth, 
The  double  of  its  original,  in  honesty  and  truth." 

U 


146  MAX    IN    AUGSBURG, 

The  emperor  in  sadness  his  hand  to  the  artist  extends  : 

"  With  me  'tis  the  dusk  of  evening,  and  before  dark  night  descends 

You'd  be  glad  to  show  the  landscape  in  the  shadows  of  twilight 

drest, — 
Well,  friend,  if  that's  your  desire,  I  cheerfully  grant  your  request." 

Placing  the  palette  and  canvas,  the  painter  his  pencil  took  : 
"  Yet  one  thing  I  pray,  my  emperor,  away  with  that  austere  look !" 
Max's  eye,  fix'd  on  the  canvas,  with  a  sudden  emotion  flashes, 
"  As  dark  as  the  face  of  your  canvas,  my  thoughts  are  of  dust  and 
ashes." 

The  painter  plies  his  pencil.     Mouth,  cheeks,  nose,  looks  are  there, 
And  the  emperor  for  laughing  falls  backward  in  his  chair : 
"  Ha,  ha,  there,  how  defiantly  the  faithful  canvas  shows, 
As  like,  as  in  a  looking-glass,  my  formidable  nose." 

And  colour  on  colour  brightens,  as  blossoms  in  spring-time  blow, 
And  the  life  and  breath  of  spring-time  through  the  circle  of  colours 

flow; 

Out  bloom  the  colours  caressing  the  lips  with  a  genUl  smile. 
Enthroning  with  sober  earnestness  the  sombre  brow  the  while 

"  Ah,  there  is  the  man  entire,  the  mansion  true  and  old, 

And  at  one  of  its  windows,  Sorrow  with  its  chill,  sad  glance,  behold  ; 


MAX   AND    DURER.  147 

Joy  stands  nodding  and  smiling  at  this  other  window  of  mine, 
For  this  house  nothing  remains  now  but  to  hang  out  the  crown  as  a 
sign! 

"  Farewell,  now,  brother  Albert !  I  well  may  call  you  brother, 

A  king  am  I,  and  a  king  you  are,  as  good  as  any  other  ; 

A  stick  of  gold  my  sceptre,  some  green  land  my  domain, 

While  you,  in  the  realm  of  your  canvas,  with  a  brush  for  a  sceptre — 

reign ! 

• 

"  The  colours  of  the  rainbow  your  faithful  subjects  be, 
And  truer  they  have  been  to  you  than  ever  mine  to  me  ; 
And  Life  is  the  aim  of  my  powers,  and  yours  is  still  the  same, 
And  both  in  toil  and  trouble  pursue  the  path  of  Fame. 

"  And  when  we  have  once  succeeded,  and  think  we  have  finished 

quite 

Some  task  wherein  we  have  laboured  unwearied  by  day  and  night, 
Comes  in  some  dunce  of  a  fellow,  who  looks  with  a  jaundiced  eye, 
And  says, — '  It's  a  so-so  likeness, — the  throne  stands  a  little  awry/ 

"  God  bless  thee,  brother  Albert !    Pray  with  my  greeting  call 
Upon  Hans  Sachs  at  Nuremburg,  the  man  of  rhyme  and  awl ; 


148  MAX    IN   AUGSBURG. 

When  again  he  writes  a  poem,  a  requiem  let  it  be ; 
You'll  soon  hear  a  king  who  is  dear  to  you  is  dead, — say  this  from 
me." 

So  speaks  the  Prince,  and  sadly  looks  the  honest  man  in  the  eye, 
And  long  with  a  mild  expression  regards  him  silently ; 
The  crown'd  and  gilded  portrait  then  contemplates  for  a  while, 
And  smiles  on  it  as  one  who  would  rather  weep  than  smile ! 


III.     DEPARTURE. 


would  ride  forth  from  Augsburg.    But  indeed  it  hardly 

suits 

The  rider  who  starts  on  a  journey,  to  start  without  hat  or 
boots ; 
His  the  women  of  Augsburg  had  stolen,  that  he  might  be  forced  to 

remain, 

But  by  dancing  a  measure  to  ransom  them,  Max  came  by  his  own 
again. 

Max  rode  from  the  gates  of  Augsburg.     But  it  is  not  pleasant  to 

find, 
When  thou  ridest  forth  from  a  city,  that  thy  heart  remains  behind ; 


DEPARTURE.  149 

So  over  the  road  of  the  Lechfeld  he  pensively  took  his  way, 
Till  he  reach'd  what  is  call'd  the  Rennsaule,  a  pillar  ancient  and 
grey. 

There  Max  drew  in  his  bridle,  and  turn'd  his  horse  quickly  round, 
For  one  more  look  at  the  city,  which  to  him  was  hallow'd  ground  ; 
"  My  faithful  and  loving  Augsburg !  there  thou  liest  in  the  morning 

light, 
Thou  canst  not  divine,  the  joyous,  my  spirit's  sorrowing  night. 

"  Thou  divinest  not  that  with  blessings  my  looks  on  thee  I  bend, 
And  thou  canst  not  return  the  greeting  which  to  thee  I  fondly  send  ; 
As  buried  in  dreamless  slumber  the  child  is  never  aware 
That  the  father  bends  over  the  cradle,  and  whispers  his  blessing 
there." 

And  then  three  times  he  cross'd  himself,  and  utter'd  reverently, 
"  Farewell !  and  may  God's  blessing,  my  Augsburg,  rest  on  thee ; 
May  He  thy  tried  fidelity  and  thy  true  love  repay, 
May  He  defend  thy  ramparts,  and  be  thy  people's  stay  J 

"  For  the  last  time  we  meet  now,  and  so  for  ever  farewell ; 
Many  true  friends  await  me,  who  in  beautiful  Tyrol  dwell ; 


ISO  MAX   IN   AUGSBURG. 

Then  brighten  up,  my  countenance,  and  mine  eye  no  more  be  sad, 
From  friend  to  friend  to  be  going,  believe  me,  is  not  so  bad. 

"  Thus  the  quiet  realm  of  spirits  may  I  sometimes  wander  through, 
And  with  serene  heart,  severed  my  well-beloved  from  you, 
Enter  the  blissful  circle  where  Love  my  coming  attends, 
And  cries,  It  is  not  so  grievous  to  be  going  from  friends  to  friends  ! " 


^Prince. 


TRANSITION. 

on  the  ridge  of  a  mountain  stands  a  tree  of  the 
evergreen  race, 
Alone  it  stands,  and  no  second  appears  far  and  wide  in 

space  ; 

Like  the  stalwart  form  of  a  giant,  that  cedar  its  branches  rears, 
A  mountain  its  trunk — on  a  mountain !  its  foliage  a  forest  appears. 

That  giant  his  evergreen  branches  lifts  proudly  to  the  sky, 
As  if  he  dared  to  knock  boldly  at  the  gates  of  the  most  High  : 
As  a  veil  he  wears  the  clouds  which  he  seizes  in  their  flight, 
And  the  sun  on  his  head  he  places  as  a  crown  of  golden  light. 

The  rosy  Dawn  his  servant,  through  a  path  of  gold  and  fire, 
Comes  first,  his  form  in  a  mantle  of  purple  to  attire  ; 
And  when  with  its  last  glad  greeting  the  sun  sinks  in  the  west, 
Comes  Evening  of  his  purple  the  giant  to  divest. 


152  THE    PRINCE. 

Thou  standest  on  thy  mountain — thou  lofty  cedar  tree, 
And  in  all  the  realm  thou  beholdest  there  is  no  peer  for  thee : 
Thus  prince  in  life  thou  risest,  the  crown-resplendent  man, 
Thus  also  in  life,|hou  standest — King  Maximilian  ! 

Hark  !  the  majestic  rustling  through  the  cedar's  swaying  limbs, 
In  an  earnest  spirit  chorus  hear  the  everlasting  hymns  ; 
Like  an  anthem  of  the  ages  resounding  far  and  wide, 
While  in  its  solemn  echoes  it  drowns  all  songs  beside. 

My  song,  oh  Max !  be  hush'd  now — for  me  it  were  not  meet, 
To  sing  how  thou  guid'st  thy  people  from  thy  imperial  seat ; 
For  who  would  willingly  listen  to  the  minstrel's  modest  strain, 
When  the  jubilee  of  a  nation  rings  out  in  wild  refrain  ! 

Of  many  deeds  of  the  ruler  must  the  strings  be  silent  now, 
How  before  thee  in  the  council  thy  loyal  people  bow  ; 
How  proud  thou  art  and  resplendent  in  thy  jewell'd  diadem, 
And  how  therein  Humility  shines  the  most  precious  gem  ; 

How  thy  head  was  never  shelter'd  from  the  fury  of  the  storm, 
Yet  no  leaf  torn  from  the  garland  that  crown'd  thy  lofty  form  j 
For  often  the  task  is  graver  the  wreaths  we  have  won  to  defend, 
Than  the  wreaths  of  early  victories  with  later  bays  to  blend. 


TRANSITION.  153 

Thou  did'st  not  for  thy  diadem  at  the  Vatican  pay  court, 

Should  the  cedar  to  the  sun-flower  appeal  for  its  support  ? 

On  thine  own  head — looking  .to  Heaven — it  was  placed  with  thine 

own  hands, 
And    Heaven    vouchsafed    the   blessing, — and    firm   and   fast     it 

stands ' 

• 

But  look  to  thine  own  tiara,  Rome's  bishop  !  and  hold  it  fast, 
For  the  breeze  that  now  makes  it  tremble  will  soon  become  a  blast ; 
In  the  dust  that  proud  tiara  is  doom'd  to  be  torn  and  tost, 
And  the  Holiness  soon  will  follow,  whenever  the  Hat  is  lost ! 

No  heretic  for  thee,  Max !  the  man  of  Saxony 
Was  a  hero  in  monk's  vesture,  was  a  knight  of  truth  to  thee, 
Who  boldly  from  Rome's  service  the  Christian  army  freed  ; 
Death  is  the  only  Pope  for  all,  infallible  indeed ! 

The  Frenchman's  haughty  lily  thy  royal  mastery  knew, 
The  Moslem  crescent  glittered  as  a  buckle  in  thy  shoe  ; 
And  as  the  desert  lion  in  the  cedar's  shadow  dark, 
So  at  thy  feet  lay  crouching  the  lion  of  Saint  Mark. 

Again,  the  prince's  temples  Peace  crowns  with  silver  band, 
'And  the  diamond  sword  of  Justice  gleams  in  a  powerful  hand  ; 

X 


154  THE    PRINCE. 

To  Art  again  thou  raisest  in  splendour  the  half-fallen  shrine, 
And  around  thy  brow  the  laurels  with  the  olive  branches  twine. 

But  not  to  me,  the  minstrel,  do  these  high  themes  belong ; 
Hark  !  the  tones  of  another  lyre,  that  sounds  a  mightier  song  1 
This  lofty  song  thou  singest  in  proud  immortal  rhyme, 
Upon  thy  giant  harp-strings,  thou  giant  mother  Time  ! 

Where  the  strings  of  this  lyre  concentre,  in  a  crown  the  diamonds 

flame, 

A  thousand  monarchs'  coffins  gave  the  wood  to  form  its  frame ; 
Thereon  for  its  golden  chords  thou  hast  sceptre  on  sceptre  spann'd, 
And  a  purple  mantle  flutters  as  the  lyre's  silken  band. 

Thus  many  a  song  immortal  from  Time's  old  harpstrings  floats, 
The  thunder  peal  of  the  avalanche  the  lightest  of  its  notes  ; 
Clio  sits  at  her  foot-stool,  and  chronicles  what  she  sings, 
And  one  of  her  matchless  songs,  Max,  with  thy  own  achievements 
rings. 

To  thee,  oh,  kingly  cedar,  I  approach  with  homage  mute, 

And  with  reverential  greeting  at  thy  trunk  I  lay  my  lute ; 

Like  a  swan  that  has  sung  its  death-song — there  in  silence  let  it  lie, 

Thy  green  and  rustling  branches  embraced  and  shelter'd  by ! 


TRANSITION.  155 

But  if  thy  towering  summit  is  stricken  by  the  thunder 
And  by  the  forked  lightning  thy  trunk  is  cleft  asunder, 
Then  a  groan  of  lamentation  shall  thrill  through  every  string, 
And  the  last  tones  of  the  lyre  shall  thy  solemn  requiem  sing. 


Return  Home. 


I.     DEATH    IN  VIEW. 

IGH  over  the  vale  of  Innsbruck,  hid  in  a  rocky  nook, 
Alone  sat  Max  the  emperor,  with  meditative  look  ; 
In  the  green  garb  of  a  hunter,  the  cross-bow  in  his 

hand, 
In  his  cap  the  beard  of  the  chamois,  and  around  it  a  green  band. 

Hark,  thou.  old  and  gallant  archer !     Hear'st  thou  not,  after  thy 

wont, 

The  shouts  of  thy  following  comrades,  the  joyous  cries  of  the  hunt  ? 
Up  !  up !  or  wilt  thou  not  notice  how  there  the  chamois  springs, 
Where  under  his  hoof  of  iron  his  path  on  the  precipice  rings  ? 

The  hoary  hunter  sits  there,  so  motionless  and  staid, 
His  curling  grey  locks  gently  on  his  hand  uplifted  laid  ; 
His  eye  now  fix'd  and  tranquil  its  gaze  on  the  city  bent, 
Now  sweeping  over  Tyrol,  far  and  wide  its  glances  sent 


DEATH    IN     VIEW.  157 

The  chamois  now  come  near  him,  and  around  him  crop  their  food, 

And  lie  like  barn-yard  cattle  about  in  the  green  wood ; 

With  their  lustrous  eyes  they  look  on  him,  so  trusting  and  so 

bold— 
We  know  thou  wilt  not  harm  us — thou  art  so  sick  and  old  ! 

Max  plucks  the  beard  of  the  chamois  from  his  hat,  and  the  silken 

band, 

.  And  drops  the  goodly  cross-bow  from  his  enfeebled  hand  : 
"  Farewell,  ye  cheerful  trappings — away  on  the  breezes  sail  ; 
Farewell,  my  faithful  cross-bow,  rest  in  the  crypt  of  the  vale  ! 

"  And  the  vigorous  sport  of  the  hunter  that  I  follow'd  with  such 

zest, 

Even  thou — even  thou  no  longer  rejoicest  my  wither' d  breast ; 
For  alas  !  alas  !    I  feel  it — I  myself  am  hunted  game, 
At  which  Death,  the  grim  sharp-shooter,  takes  his  unerring  aim." 

When  again  the  emperor  home  to  the  imperial  palace  came, 
Upon  the  couch  he  threw  himself,  his  limbs  were  worn  and  lame : 
"  Give  me,  my  worthy  butler,  a  goblet  full  of  wine, 
Forthwith — I  want  no  better  than  grows  upon  the  Rhine." 

With  mouth  distorted  bitterly  Max  of  the  goblet  sips  : 
"  Away  with  this  acid  liquor — for  it  sorely  bites  my  lips  ; 


158  RETURN    HOME. 

It  seems  a  growth  of  the  Brocken,  and  not  of  the  genial  Rhine ; 
Fill  me  a  second  goblet  with  the  best  of  all  your  wine." 

Max  sips  the  second  goblet,  and  his  eye  with  anger  flashes, 

To  the  ground  in  a  thousand  fragments  the  crystal  cup  he  dashes  : 

"  Does  not  Death  work  quick  enough  for  you  ?   Would  you  have 

him  finish  quicker, 
That  you  seek  my  blood  to  poison  with  this  infernal  liquor?" 

Soon  the  third  goblet  sparkles  with  pure  and  luscious  wine, 
'Twould  have  gladden'd  the  heart  of  a  tippler  only  to  see  it  shine ; 
As  it  bubbles  to  the  surface  the  fragrant  pearls  behold, 
While  it  smiles  through  its  shell  of  crystal  like  a  fountain  of  liquid 
gold. 

The  emperor  taKes  the  goblet,  and  for  the  third  time  sips, 

And  a  third  time  ill-contented  removes  it  from  his  lips  : 

"  The  drink  is  bitter  and  cutting — as  though  it  were  hemlock   I 

quaff'd, 
And  Satan's  self  were  the  brewer  that  mix'd  the  poisonous  draught." 

Shaking  his  head,  the  butler  with  emphasis  exclaim'd  : 
"  This  wine  is  of  a  vintage  that  far  and  wide  is  famed  ; 


DEATH    IN    VIEW.  159 

Look  at  the  wine  a  moment !  What  a  fragrance  !  What  a  hue  ! 
The  banks  of  the  Rhine,  believe  me,  a  better  never  knew." 

To  himself  Max  mutters  pensively :  "  The  man  is  not  to  blame — 
The  wines  are  good  and  noble — to  me  all  wine's  the  same ! 
No  draught  can  give  me  pleasure,  to  me  no  bread  tastes  good, 
For  me  the  only  nourishment  is  the  Saviour's  body  and  blood !" 

The  emperor  left  the  palace,  absorb'd  in  deep  reflection, 
Not  far  off  he  had  a  mansion  in  the  process  of  erection  ; 
Though  all  was  going  well  there,  for  himself  he  fain  would  see, 
And  learn  in  what  condition  the  master's  work  might  be. 

Around  he  looks,  observing, — then  cries  out  chidingly, 
"  Ye  men,  what  sort  of  a  snail's  house  are  ye  building  here  for  me  ? 
How  slim  are  the  crowded  pillars  !  how  narrow  the  hall  and  saloon  ! 
And  as  dark  as  the  cells  of  a  prison  when  there's  neither  sun  nor 
moon." 

"  Honour'd  Sir,  I  crave  your  pardon,"  quoth  the  master,  cap  in  hand, 
"  Where  in  Christendom,  God  help  me,  doth  a  fairer  mansion  stand  ? 
The  hall  is  light  as  mid-day,  and  the  pillars  like  cedars  tower, 
The  roof  stands  as  firm  as  a  rock,  and  as  light  as  the  roof  of  a  bower. " 


160  RETURN    HOME. 

Then  quietly  the  emperor  :  "  The  man  is  right,  I  see, 

A  little  house  befitteth  a  little  family : 

But  I  cannot  look  with  pleasure  on  the  building  of  your  hands, 

So  I'll  build  me  a  better  dwelling  than  a  dwelling  on  the  sands." 

Therewith  he  calls  a  joiner  and  instructs  him  privately, 
"  Come  go  to  work,  my  master,  and  a  coffin  make  for  me : 
And  let  the  oaken  coffin  in  an  oaken  chest  be  laid, 
And  bring  both  to  my  palace  the  moment  they  are  made." 

The  coffin  stands  by  his  bed-side,  when  he  retires  to  rest, 
And  when  he  goes  on  a  journey  he  takes  the  oaken  chest, 
And  among  themselves  the  courtiers  are  curious  in  vain, 
To  know  what  sort  of  treasures  might  this  oaken  chest  contain. 

Max  once  before  his  coffin  in  the  twilight  sat  alone, 

And  by  the  dark  house  mutter'd  in  a  deep  and  hollow  tone : 

"  Oh,  rider,  worn  with  travel,  thy  hostel  beckons  thee, 

So  rich  in  thrones,  oh,  emperor !  Lo,  here  thy  last  throne  see  ! 

"  In  thee,  thou  house  of  death,  thus  in  funeral  darkness  hurl'd, 
See  all  the  idle  gew-gaws  I  have  gather'd  in  the  world  ;" 
And  the  treasures  that  around  him  in  splendid  coffers  rest, 
He  takes  with  bitter  laughter,  and  hurls  them  in  the  chest. 


DEATH    IN     VIEW.  161 


Therein  he  throws  his  sceptre  and  his  jewell'd  diadem, 
Gold  chains,  rich  purple  mantles,  and  many  a  precious  gem  ; 
When  a  cap  and  bells  toss'd  suddenly  in  the  chest  from  behind  him 

rang, 
And  the  ponderous  lid  of  iron  fell  with  a  deafening  clang. 

The  emperor,  flush'd  with  anger,  sprang  up  and  turning  round, 
Saw  Conrad  Von  der  Rosen  with  his  eyes  upon  the  ground  ; 
Yet  the  eyes  of  Max  flash'd  fire,  and  he  cried,  in  a  furious  tone, 
"  Away,  thou  tedious  simpleton  !  Away  with  thee — Begone  ! " 

Oh,  true  and  loyal  Conrad,  then*  broke  thy  honest  heart, 

How  through  the  soul  it  smote  thee — that  deep  and  cruel  smart ! 

How  the  breast  of  the  grey  old  servant  swell'd  with  convulsive 

sighs ! 
Alas  !  what  a  flood  of  bitterness  burst  forth  from  his  old  eyes  ! 

The  emperor  sees  him  weeping,  and  at  the  sight  repines ; 

And  to  a  swift  repentance  his  soften'd  heart  inclines ; 

His  bitter  speech  he  deprecates  and  eagerly  recalls, 

And  with  tears  of  unfeign'd  sorrow  on  Conrad's  neck  he  falls. 

"  Forgive  !  I  feel  it  doubly — soon  comes  eternal  rest ; 
For  all  that  once  with  pleasure  and  with  love  my  soul  possest, 

Y 


162  RETURN    HOME. 

In  a  sea  world- wide  of  fragments  around  extended  lies, 
Even  thy  faith's  firm  anchor  seems  rotten  in  mine  eyes. 

"The  tree  that  loves  no  longer  the  soil  that  gave  it  birth, 
Nor  the  nurture  it  imbibeth  from  the  dew  and  from  the  earth, 
Nor  the  breezes,  which  at  mid-day  a  soft  refreshment  give, — 
Such  a  tree,  so  help  me,  Heaven  !  has  but  little  time  to  live." 

The  moon  creeps  into  the  chamber,  and  sees  there  hand  in  hand, 
Conrad,  the  true  and  trusted,  with  the  aged  emperor  stand  : 
Sees  there  two  noble  foreheads,  whose  story  their  grey  hair  tells, 
One  grey  from  wearing  the  diadem,  and  one  from  the  cap  and  bells  ! 


II.  THE  DEPARTURE  FROM  INNSBRUCK. 

BOAT  was  in  waiting  at  Innsbruck,  when  the   early 
morning  broke, 

And  the  sick  emperor  enter'd  it,  enveloped  in  a  cloak  ; 
The  oak  chest,  never  parted  with,  stood  darkly  by  his  side, 
Forth  push'd  the  boat  impetuous  on  the  river's  rapid  tide. 


THE  DEPARTURE  FROM  INNSBRUCK.         163 

On  shore  the  murmur  busily  among  the  people  ran, 
Whither  in  such  a  hurry,  thou  sad  and  grey  old  man  ? 
Then  back  the  words  from  Max's  lips  responsive  seem'd  to  fly, 
"  Farewell !  farewell !  to  Austria,  I  now  will  go  to  die." 

He  leans  on  the  oaken  coffin,  oppress'd  with  cares  profound, 
To  heaven  he  looks  with  sadness,  and  with  sadness  looks  around  ; 
"  Thou  beautiful  land,  sincerely  and  faithfully  loved  I  thee, 
Would  that  I  knew  my  people  had  found  happiness  through  me  ! " 

The  little  boat  cleaves  the  waters,  and  swift  before  Max's  eye 
The  valleys,  plains  and  mountains,  farms  and  cities,  backward  fly ; 
What  side  he  looks  spring  blessings,  strength,  industry  and  life, — 
What  side  he  listens,  jubilee,  and  song  and  praise  are  rife. 

The  guns  crack  in  the  forest,  the  scythes  in  the  meadows  swing, 
Through  the  valleys  in  thunder  chorus  the  heavy  hammers  ring ; 
And  out  of  the  throats  of  the  chimneys  the  smoke  rises  dense  and 

high, 
As  if  the  black  pillars  supported  the  dome  of  the  azure  sky. 

And  beyond  them,  laden  with  harvests,  the  fields  lie  golden  and  gay, 
And  the  cattle  joyously  bleating  on  the  Alpine  hill-sides  stray  ; 
And  the  mills  clack  in  the  valley,  impell'd  by  the  restless  streams, 
While  over  the  wheels  swiftly  turning  a  shower  of  silver  gleams. 


164  RETURN    HOME. 

And  around,  on  all  the  highways,  see  the  living,  pressing  throng ! 
Here  safe  from  harm  the  travellers  beguile  the  way  with  song ; 
Beneath  its  rich  freight  creaking  the  carrier's  axle  rolls, 
While  in  clouds  of  dust  swift  riders  spring  nimbly  to  their  goals. 

With  flapping  sails  move  onward,  or  with  lusty  stroke  of  oar, 

In  the  stream  the  stout  boats  crossing  each  other  from  shore  to 

shore ; 

With  wares  and  treasures  laden,  Max's  sailors  when  they  meet, 
Proud  of  their  charge,  their  brethren  will  hardly  deign  to  greet. 

See  there  before  the  farm,  which  in  freshest  pasture  lies, 
A  peasant  says  a  blessing  o'er  his  child  with  joyous  eyes  ; 
And  teaches  it  in  trouble  its  heart  to  God  to  raise, 
While  he,  with  hands  uplifted,  for  all  good  princes  prays. 

And  on  the  banks  stand  cities,  with  ramparts  white  and  neat, 
Industry  hums  in  the  dwellings,  and  Thrift  flaunts  in  the  street ; 
Greeting  him  from  the  windows,  many  bright  faces  appear, 
And  the  bells,  from  the  steeples  chiming,  ring  praises  in  Max's  ear. 

Still  he  leans  on  the  oaken  coffin,  his  head  with  old  age  bent, 
With  blessings  he  looks  above  him,  and  around  him  with  content ; 
He  feels  the  thrilling  answer  these  mute  voices  have  express'd, 
And  asks  no  more,  if  his  sceptre  has  render'd  his  people  bless'd. 


THE     WILL    AND     TESTAMENT.  165 


III.    THE  WILL  AND   TESTAMENT. 

T  Wels,  in  the  royal  palace,  knights  and  nobles  were  coming 

and  going, 
As  the  tide  of  life  in  its  avenues  was  restlessly  ebbing  and 

flowing ; 

In  armour  and  golden  doublets,  in  steel  and  in  silken  vest, 
All  on  their  tiptoes  creeping  to  the  prince's  chamber  prest. 

There  the  emperor  lay  dejected,  propp'd  up  in  his  sick  bed, 
On  his  wither'd  arm  reposing  his  grey  and  trembling  head  ; 
His  bleach'd  face  dimly  lighted  by  the  waning  fire  of  his  eye, 
As  in  the  pallid  moonlight  an  altar's  ruins  lie. 

Fix'd  and  speechless  as  the  statues  on  the  tombs  of  royal  dead, 
So  stand  the  weeping  nobles  by  the  side  of  Max's  bed  ; 
Even  Conrad  at  such  mourning !    The  lusty  Rosen  here  ! 
In  merry  Rosen's  heart's  cup  there  lurketh  many  a  tear.30 

There  stands  the  gallant  Freundsberg  with  the  smoke  of  battle  dun, 
And  there,  with  wrinkled  forehead,  stands  Pfinzig,  Wisdom's  son  ; 
And  Charles,  the  imperial  scion — in  the  freshness  of  his  bloom, 
Already  fix'd  and  sinister,  his  downcast  look  of  gloom. 


166  RETURN    HOME. 

There  stands  the  Dietrichsteiner,31  his  heart  with  mourning  tried, 
Whom  Maximilian  loved  so  as  he  loved  none  beside  ; 
Like  a  twin  star  his  spirit  with  Max's  spirit  glows, 
His  heart,  a  holy  temple,  only  Max's  image  knows. 

The  dying  emperor  graspeth  his  friend's  hand  cordially : 
"  What  pledge  of  truth  for  thy  truth  shall  I  bequeath  to  thee  ?  " 
"  My  Lord," — thus  rings  the  answer — "  grant  only,  when  I  die, 
That  at  thy  feet  my  ashes  in  a  lone  grave  may  lie." 

Raising  himself  the  emperor  nods  with  a  gentle  smile, 
And  his  inmost  soul  is  quicken'd  with  new  energy  the  while ; 
His  eyes  once  more  inspired  with  the  ancient  lustre  flame, 
And  his  lips  with  their  old  vigour  his  testament  proclaim  : 

"  Peace  is  in  all  our  lands — to  the  ord  be  Lthe  honour  and  glory ! 
For  the  Lord's  peace  also  yearneth  the  old  man  tired  and  hoary ; 
Soon,  soon,  before  His  dwelling  I  shall  stand  with  dizzy  eye, 
And  pass  through  crystal  portals  to  light  and  peace  on  high. 

"  Upon  my  coffin  suffer  no  jewell'd  crown  to  shine, 

No  sceptre  and  no  purple  and  no  heraldry  of  mine  ; 

Be  a  white  cross,  pure  and  simple,  embroider'd  on  my  pail, — 

Let  that  adorn  my  coffin — the  coat  of  arms  of  all ! 


THE     WILL    AND     TESTAMENT.  167 

"  In  a  hearse  to  Neustadt  carry  my  ashes  without  parade, 
And  to  its  worthy  burghers  my  last  adieux  be  said ! 
There  sometime  stood  my  cradle,  there  shall  my  coffin  rest, — 
The  dead  child  sleeps  so  peacefully  upon  his  mother's  breast ! 

"  In  the  Castle  Chapel  at  Neustadt,  under  the  altar  stone, 
There  let  my  corpse  be  buried — dust,  dust  with  ashes  strewn  ! 
Where  over  my  heart  in  sacrifice  the  ministering  priests  may  bend, 
And  floating  over  my  ashes  the  prayers  of  my  people  ascend. 

"  The  pressure  and  the  tempest  of  fate  have  driven  me  forth, 
From  the  orient  to  the  sunset,  and  from  the  south  to  the  north  ; 
Yet  my  native  fields  with  gladness  I  see  once  more  to-day, 
To  this  spot  all  my  journeys  were  but  a  longer  way  ! 

"  But  thou,  oh  Charles,  my  grandson,  approach  thou  nearer  me, 
And  list  to  the  words  that  Truth  from  the  mouth  of  Death  speaks 

to  thee ; 

For  woe  to  the  lips  where  cunning  lurks  in  the  latest  breath, 
And  woe  to  the  lying  countenance  that  cozens  even  in  death. 

"  Of  blood,  of  love,  already  Death  has  torn  the  links  away, 
On  thy  head,  my  nearest  kindred,  my  diadem  I  lay ; 


1 68  RETURN    HOME. 

Think  as  thy  hands  the  diadem  from  the  hands  of  Death  receive, 
Thou,  too,  ere  long  that  diadem  in  the  hands  of  Death  must  leave. 

"  This  many  a  one  has  forgotten,  by  mad  conceits  misled, 
Woe  to  him  !  like  a  circlet  of  iron  it  galls  his  head  ; 
The  fool,  indeed,  thinks  truly,  the  crown  is  a  heavy  weight 
But  it's  a  heavier  burden  to  bear  men's  scorn  and  hate. 

"  On  me  the  crown  press'd  lightly — on  me  it  left  no  wound — 
Or  haply  'twas  hid  by  the  laurels,  about  my  temples  bound  ; 
For  right  and  faith  and  courage  were  the  legends  of  my  life, 
My  sword  and  heart,  true  comrades,  in  the  hours  of  darkest  strife. 

"Thou  art  call'd  to  other  conflicts,  where  the  sword  will  be  left 

behind, 

A  battle  of  thought  is  coming,  and  the  warrior  will  be  the  mind ; 
In  the  minster  of  Wittenberg  preaches  a  priest  in  a  friar's  frock, 
And  the  prince  of  monks  at  the  Vatican  on  his  old  throne  feels 

the  shock. 

"  A  new  cathedral  rises  superbly  in  the  land, 

Watching  with  weapons  of  light,  there  the  holy  champions  stand  ; 

On  the  gates  write  the  wise  man's  adage,  in  a  scroll  to  be  read 

of  all, 
'  If  the  word  of  God  it  will  flourish,  if  not,  it  is  doom'd  to  fall.' 


THE     WILL    AND     TESTAMENT.  169 

"  A  little  flame  falls  on  the  altar,  to  a  blaze  the  little  flame  grows, 
Now  a  giant  column  of  fire,  with  the  colour  of  blood  it  glows : 
Oh,  fear  not  the  flame  purely  kindled,  that  heavenward  may  aspire, 
Oh,  never  was  earthly  mansion  consumed  by  a  heavenly  fire ! 

"  Then  thought,  from  the  flame  emerging,  sweeps  purified  to  light, 
And  soars  to  the  empyrean  !     Oh,  hamper  not  its  flight ! 
For  thought,  like  the  sun-seeking  eagle,  unchain'd,  uncheck'd  must  be, 
And  then  to  the  sun  in  the  zenith  it  will  mount  like  the  eagle  free ! 

"  Then  on  Life's  highest  places  wilt  thou  with  blessing  go — 
Seem  calm  when  the  flames  of  sacrifice  about  thee  wave  and  glow  ; 
Seem  calm  when  hearts  and  worlds  are  compass'd  about  with  night, 
And  in  its  wild  encounter  Life  struggles  with  affright. 

"  And  now  upon  thy  forehead,  my  Charles,  my  hands  I  lay , 
And  for  God's  blessing  on  thee  I  reverently  pray : 
On  the  blood  that  courses  through  thee  God's  benediction  rest, 
Thy  breath,  thy  look,  thy  heart-beat,  thy  word,  thine  all  be  blest ! 

"  Be  bless'd  through  sturdy  vigour — be  bless'd  through  energy — 
Which  as  God's  arm  uplifted  in  the  tempest  sweeps  the  sea — 
Arrests  the  fall  of  the  avalanche  and  the  vaulted  heaven  sustains. 
May  it  fill  with  true  nobility  the  blood  that  swells  thy  veins  I 

z 


170  RETURN    HOME. 

"  May'st  thou  be  bless'd  through  clemency !  Which  as  the  flower 

delights, 

As  the  air  dries  the  tear  of  sorrow,  as  fruit  the  pilgrim  invites  ; 
As  dew  cools  the  sweat  of  labour,  as  around  graves  the  moonbeams 

swarm, 
Be  it  this  that  with  true  nobility  thy  soul  may  raise  and  warm ! 

"  May'st  thou  be  bless'd  through  wisdom !  The  all-creative  power 
That  has  built  this  earth— huge  charnel  house !  and  upheld  it  to 

this  hour ; 

That  race  on  race  ft  cradles  through  the  ages'  trackless  flight — 
May  wisdom  thy  heart  illumine,  and  guide  thy  judgment  right ! 


"  May'st  thou  be  bless'd  with  Love,  which,  as  the  dove  on  the  wing, 
Like  a  green  branch  from  heaven  to  earth  has  borne  the  spring  ; 
Love  like  a  chain  of  roses  binds  human  hearts  together, 
And  binds  like  a  chain  of  diamonds  the  upper  world  to  the  nether. 


"  Love  as  the  blue  of  the  atmosphere  doth  the  ball  of  earth  enrobe, 
Love  beats  as  the  pulse  of  life  beats,  in  the  centre  of  the  globe — 
Love  that  on  the  world  in  ruins  shall  stand  with  God  alone, 
May  Love  with  its  fire  inflame  it  and  make  thy  heart  its  own  I 


THE     WILL    AND     TESTAMENT.  171 

"  May  thy  race  be  crown'd  with  honours  to  the  latest  generations, 
Alike  in  light  and  number  to  the  heavenly  constellations ; 
A  spring  with  blossoms  laden,  rich  with  hope  for  the  seasons  to  come, 
An  autumn  of  golden  fruitage,  that  bringeth  the  harvest  home. 

"  My  benediction  on  you — to  all  I  bid  adieu. 
Call  the  priest  for  the  last  sacrament,  my  pious  friends  and  true ; 
That  the  crown  might  press  less  heavily  he  once  anointed  my  brow — 
For  the  light  garland  of  cypress  let  it  be  anointed  now!" 


Venturesome. 


(DER  THEUERDANK.32) 

[HE  early  dawn  serenely  is  shining  on  all  the  land, 
Max  sits  in  his  velvet  arm-chair,  with  a  volume  in  his 

hand  : 

In  the  book  of  daring  adventure  and  of  chivalry  he  reads, 
Of  his  own  wild  life  the  swan-song  —  the  mirror  of  his  deeds. 

He  reads  in  his  achievements  !  the  messenger  of  Death 
Even  now  floats  over  Austria,  to  receive  his  parting  breath. 
He  reads  in  his  achievements  !    Here,  princes,  turn  your  eye, 
Learn  what  no  monk  can  teach  you,  oh,  learn  like  him  to  die  ! 

He  reads  how  Rashness  sent  him,  the  young  presumptuous  squire, 
In  sport  to  the  edge  of  the  precipice,  through  the  flood  and  through 
the  fire  ; 


'  DER    THEUERDANK.  173 

And  how  Mischance  the  assassin  hurl'd  the  rocks  athwart  his  path, 
Set  the  lion  to  destroy  him,  and  stirr'd  the  tempest's  wrath. 


He  reads  it  and  looks  upwards,  and  to  God  he  gives  the  praise, 
Who  triumphantly  through  dangers  had  borne  him  all  his  days ; 
Through  trouble  and  through  pressure — and  a  victorious  strife, 
With  nature  and  the  elements — the  crowded  fray  of  life ! 

He  further  reads  how  Envy,  sharp,  sinister  and  grey, 

From  his  head  the  crown  and  laurel  wreath  had  gladly  torn  away, 

Sent  hosts  by  land  and  sea  his  dominions  to  invade, 

Mix'd  for  him  draughts  of  poison,  and  sharpen'd  Murder's  blade. 

He  read  and  search'd  his  bosom,  and  praised  the  manly  power 
Which  so  nobly  had  sustain'd  him  in  Passion's  stormiest  hour ; 
Which  in  the  strife  of  hearts  made  his  own  great  heart  victorious, 
And  in  the  strife  of  weapons,  made  his  own  good  sword  so  glorious. 

And  still  he  reads.     All  blooming  the  distant  times  draw  near, 
And  crowds  of  youthful  images  before  him  re-appear ; 
His  ancient  comrades  rising  from  their  graves  are  marshall'd  there, 
And  the  red  of  morning  greets  him — freedom  and  mountain  air! 


1/4  KNIGHT    VENTURESOME. 

With  a  green  wreath  of  myrtle,  in  bridal  robe  of  white, 
The  princess  Honour  rises  to  the  youthful  emperor's  sight ; 
Then  shineth  Max's  forehead  bright  as  the  morning's  ray, 
He  gently  sobbeth  "  Mary !" — "  Mary"  dies  on  the  air  away. 

Athwart  his  placid  countenance  a  smile  serenely  plays, 
Down  his  cheek  from  moisten'd  eyelids  a  lucid  tear-drop  strays ; 
His  hoary  head  recumbent  sinks  slowly  on  his  breast, 
And  on  his  knees  descending  both  hand  and  volume  rest. 

With  the  book  of  his  life  before  him  he  sits  in  his  velvet  chair, 
All  motionless  ana!  silent  his  people  find  him  there ; 
About  his  lips  irradiate  the  last  smile  mildly  glimmers, 
And  on  the  verge  of  his  eyelids  the  latest  tear-drop  shimmers. 

The  old  man's  lifeless  body  his  people  kneel  around, 
In  solemn  silence  bending  their  faces  to  the  ground  ; 
Behold  the  heartfelt  homage  to  a  prince's  ashes  paid ! 
What  need  of  martial  pageant  or  funereal  parade  ? 

It  was  night,  dark  night  for  Austria,  the  day  that  Max  departed, 
The  eyes  of  all  were  dimm'd  with  tears,  and  all  were   broken- 
hearted ; 

Yet  no  owl  shrieks,  and  no  comet  sweeps  the  skies  with  lurid  flashes, 
No  storm  spreads  desolation,  and  no  town  is  laid  in  ashes. 


DER    THEUERDANK.  175 

No  !  shining  beam  the  heavens,  fresh  the  vernal  breezes  blow, 
Full  of  crops  the  fields  are  standing,  full  of  vines  the  hill-sides  glow  ; 
Green  lie  the  woods  and  meadows,  and  crystal  the  clear  streams  run, 
The  larks  to  the  day-break  carol,  and  the  eagle  mounts  to  the  sun  ! 


Hard  by  the  castle  of  Neustadt,  in  a  joiner's  house  a  song 
In  doleful  notes  resounding,  may  be  heard  the  whole  day  long  ; 
The  ancient  master  sings  it  from  the  earliest  dawn  of  day, — 
Blanch'd  are  the  lips  of  the  singer,  and  his  scanty  locks  are  grey. 

For  more  than  half  a  century  the  world  has  roll'd  along, 
Since  the  morning  for  the  first  time  was  a  listener  to  this  song  ; 
Two  lives  since  then  to  their  limits  have  been  wafted  on  Time's  wing, 
The  one  was  the  life  of  a  burgher,  the  other  the  life  of  a  king. 

The  path  of  the  king  is  varied  and  rich  in  storied  deeds, 
Where  gloom  succeeds  to  sunshine,  and  calm  to  storm  succeeds ; 
The  burgher's  days  glide  calmly,  remote  from  care  and  strife, 
Who  knows  his  this  day's  business,  as  well  knows  all  his  life. 


i;6  KNIGHT   VENTURESOME. 

Enters  the  joiner's  shop  a  man  whose  mien  his  errand  tells : 
"  Up,  master,  for  the  corpse  of  Max  arrives  to-day  from  Wels ; 
Hark !  the  bells  announce  its  coming,  and  priestly  dirges  greet, 
You  must  build  forthwith  a  catafalque  for  a  royal  funeral  meet." 

The  joiner  piles  the  scantling  a  catafalque  to  rear, 
From  the  same  scantling  fashion'd  there  stands  a  cradle  near ; 
Around  fly  the  chips. and  splinters,  saw  creaks,  and  hammer  rings, 
Meanwhile  his  old-time  ditty  the  grey-hair'd  master  sings  : 

"  Whither,  thou  sad  companion,  and,  cripples,  whither  ye  ? 
Whither,  ye  riders  ?    Whither,  thou  sailoi  of  the  sea  ? 
Oh,  sailing,  limping,  riding,  all  are  bound  to  Kingdom  Come, 
While  I  am  making  coffins  for  you  and  me  at  home ! " 


NOTES   AND    ILLUSTRATIONS. 


THE   RULER'S   CRADLE. 

NOTE  i,  p.  4. 

EONORA,  wife  of  the  Emperor  Frederick  III.,  was  the  daughter 
of  King  Edward  of  Portugal,  and  mother  of  the  Prince  Maxi- 
milian, whose  story  is  told  in  these  poems.  The  marriage  of  this 
imperial  pair  was  not  a  happy  one,  as  may  be  readily  imagined, 
if  the  husband  were  such  as  the  historians  describe  him — mean, 
suspicious,  indolent,  dull,  false,  changeable  and  penurious.  This  is  the  contem- 
porary account ;  and  with  the  later  writers,  as  pitcher  is  emptied  into  pitcher, 
the  mixture  loses  nothing  of  its  bitterness.  Such  an  inventory  of  vices  might 
well  enough  excuse  the  pious  but  somewhat  unconjugal  gratitude  with  which 
Leonora  thanks  Heaven  that  the  boy  is  altogether  different  from  his  father. 


AUSTRIA  AND   BURGUNDY. 

NOTE  2,  p.  12. 

Frederick  seems  to  have  had  an  early  .conviction  that  his  son  Maximilian 
would  find  a  desirable  match  in  Mary  of  Burgundy.  He  broached  the  matter 
to  his  friend  Pope  Pius  II.,  when  the  boy  was  only  four  years  old  ;  and  in  the 
hope  of  thus  uniting  the  rich  domains  of  Burgundy  and  the  Netherlands  to  the 

A  A 


i;8  NOTES. 

House  of  Austria,  he  listened  com plai sari tly  to  the  ambitious  projects  of  Charles 
the  Bold  for  founding  the  new  kingdom  of  Burgundy.  Negotiations  on  this 
subject  led  to  the  famous  meeting  of  the  two  princes  at  Treves,  where  Maxi- 
milian accompanied  his  father.  Here  Charles  was  thinking  of  his  coronation,  and 
Frederick  of  the  marriage  treaty  for  his  son  ;  while  Louis  XI.  was  intriguing  to 
defeat  both,  with  the  double  view  of  humbling  a  too  powerful  vassal,  and 
securing  the  hand  of  Mary  for  the  Dauphin.  The  emperor  was  willing  to  do 
all  that  Charles  desired  after  the  marriage  ;  and  Charles  was  willing  to  promise 
the  hand  of  his  daughter  after  the  coronation.  Both  were  ready  to  bargain,  but 
neither  would  give  credit  for  the  price.  Meanwhild  the  French  king  suggested 
to  Frederick  that  Charles  would  not  rest  contented  with  the  title  of  king,  but 
was  really  aspiring  to  the  imperial  crown  ;  a  suggestion  to  some  extent  favoured 
by  the  more  than  regal  splendour  that  Charles  affected  in  his  dress,  service,  and 
surroundings.  The  duke  had  made  all  hi?  arrangements  for  the  coronation. 
He  had  brought  to  Treves  a  golden  crown,  a  royal  sceptre  and  robe,  military 
insignia  and  other  appropriate  decorations.  An  imperial  and  a  regal  throne, 
with  slightly  different  elevations,  had  been  erected  in  the  Church  of  the  Holy 
Virgin  ;  both  hung  with  silk  draperies  stiff  with  gold,  and  on  both  sides  nume- 
rous seats  richly  adorned  for  the  chief  nobility.  All  was  ready  for  the  ceremony, 
when  Frederick  astonished  the  world,  if  not  the  duke,  by  taking  French  leave  ; 
merely  sending  him  word  that  his  presence  was  required  at  Cologne,  in  conse- 
quence of  difficulties  between  the  Archbishop  Rupert  and  the  chapter  of  the 
cathedral,  and  that  the  subject  of  their  late  negotiations  could  be  arranged  at 
some  future  time. 

These  ecclesiastical  troubles  terminated  in  open  hostilities.  The  archbishop 
courted  the  assistance  of  the  great  duke,  the  chapter  appealed  to  the  emperor. 
Charles  invested  Neuss  with  a  well-appointed  army  of  60,000  men.  Germany 
sent  80,000  men  under  the  command  of  Albert  of  Saxony,  to  raise  the  siege. 
Desperate  fights  took  place  before  the  city.  The  Pope  intervened.  A  truce 
was  agreed  upon.  An  interview  followed  between  Frederick,  who  had  remained 
at  Cologne,  and  the  Duke.  Peace  was  restored.  The  adjustment  of  the  differ- 
ences between  the  archbishop  and  the  chapter  was  referred  to  the  Vatican.  What 
else  was  stipulated  no  one  knew  ;  but  it  was  generally  believed  that  at  this  inter- 
view the  duke  formally  contracted  that  his  only  daughter  Mary  should  become 
the  wife  of  the  imperial  prince  Maximilian. 


NOTES.  179 

The  fall  of  Charles  at  Nancy  put  an  end  to  the  dreams  of  a  kingdom  of 
Burgundy,  and  of  an  imperial  crown  ;  but  during  his  life-time  the  preliminary 
interchange  of  tokens  between  Mary  and  Maximilian  had  opened  the  way  for 
that  aggrandizement  of  the  House,  of  Austria,  the  hope  of  which  had  been 
Frederick's  inducement  to  attend  the  conference  at  Treves. 

For  a  detailed  and  elaborate  account  of  the  interview  at  Treves,  see  Kirk's 
History  of  Charles  the  Bold,  ii.  pp.  189-209.  See  also  Pontus  Heuterus, 
Rerum  Burgundicarum,  Lib.  v.  Cap.  8 ;  Geschichte  der  Regierung  Kaiser 
Maximilians  des  Ersten,  von  D.  H.  Hegewisch,  pp.  19-22  ;  and  Geschichte 
des  Kaisers  Maximilian  /.,  von  Karl  Haltaus,  pp.  9-13. 


NOTE  3,  p.  1 8. 

It  is  said  that  Mary  at  her  father's  suggestion  replied  favourably  to  a  letter 
addressed  to  her  by  Prince  Maximilian,  and,  in  pledge  of  her  faith,  sent  him  a 
diamond  ring.  Though  the  duke  left  Treves  in  a  towering  rage  with  the 
emperor,  he  was  always  warm  in  his  praise  of  the  young  arch-duke,  and  his 
words  had  made  a  deep  impression  upon  his  daughter. 

Pressed  by  her  council  to  select  from  the  dozen  suitors  for  her  hand,  she 
replied  coolly,  "  I  understand  that  Monsieur  my  father,  (whom  may  God 
absolve)  consented  and  agreed  to  my  marriage  with  the  son  of  the  emperor,  and 
I  have  not  thought  of  having  any  other  than  the  son  of  the  emperor/'  When 
this  report  was  brought  to  Louis  of  Bavaria  and  the  Bishop  of  Metz,  whom  the 
emperor  had  sent  as  his  ambassadors  to  solicit  the  hand  of  "  Madame  Mary"  for 
his  son,  they  lost  no  time  in  communicating  it  to  the  Prince,  who  forthwith  left 
Vienna  for  Frankfort,  where  he  was  received  by  the  deputies  of  the  states,  and  a 
crowd  of  knights,  prelates,  and  princes.  The  Dowager  Duchess  of  Burgundy, 
knowing  the  probable  state  of  his  purse,  had  been  thoughtful  enough  to  send  the 
prince  a  present  of  100,000  guilders,  to  defray  his  travelling  expenses. 

A  magnificent  reception  awaited  him  at  Ghent.  The  young  and  handsome 
prince  was  much  admired  as  he  rode  on  a  brown  charger,  in  a  harness  of  silver 
embroidered  with  gold  under  a  coat  of  red  and  white  velvet,  with  a  circlet  of 
pearls  and  precious  stones  on  his  bare  head,  from  which  the  golden  locks  flowed 
over  his  shoulders.  He  was  at  once  conducted  to  the  palace,  where  the 


i  So  NOTES. 

contract  was  soon  concluded,  though  it  is  said  the  lovers  had  no  common  tongue 
in  which  they  could  converse, — for  Mary  did  not  speak  German,  and  Maximilian 
at  that  time  was  not  very  well  up  in  his  French. 

The  nuptials  were  celebrated  two  days  afterwards.  In  his  description  of  the 
marriage  procession  the  author  has  kept  in  view  the  series  of  engravings  on 
wood,  known  as  the  "  Triumphal  Procession  of  the  Emperor  Maximilian,'' 
executed  probably  at  his  suggestion  by  Hans  Burgmaier,  a  pupil  of  Albert 
Diirer. 

NOTE  4,  p.  23. 

A  house  stood  in  the  Wallnerstrasse  in  Vienna,  in  which  an  old  painting 
represented  the  wolf  preaching  to  the  geese. 

NOTE  5,  p.  26. 

Bella  gerint  alii,  tu  felix  Austria  nube, 
Nam  quze  Mars  aliis,  dat  tibi  regna  Venus. 


THE   EAGLE    AND   THE   LILY. 

NOTE  6,  p.  27. 

When  Louis  XL  was  assured  of  the  death  of  Charles  at  Nancy,  he 
determined  not  only  to  occupy  Burgundy  at  once  as  a  fief  of  the  crown,  but  to 
take  possession  of  the  other  states  of  the  duke  to  which  France  could  set  up  no 
such  pretension.  Disappointed  in  his  plan  of  uniting  the  Dauphin  to  Mary  of 
Burgundy,  a  lad  of  eight  years  to  a  lady  of  twenty,  he  revenged  himself  by 
ravaging  her  territories,  corrupting  and  betraying  her  ambassadors,  exciting  her 
subjects  to  revolt,  seizing  some  of  the  fairest  of  her  cities,  negotiating  treason 
with  others,  and  menacing  the  total  extinction  of  the  Burgundian  power. 

After  the  marriage  of  Maximilian,  there  was  a  truce,  and  there  was  a  talk  of 
peace.  Louis,  however,  would  not  abandon  his  spoils,  and  summoned  the 
dead  duke,  as  he  never  dared  to  summon  the  livi.ig,  to  answer  before  the 
Parliament  of  Paris  on  a  charge  of  rebellion  and  felony.  As  the  dead  duke  did 
not  appear,  however,  he  called  upon  the  duke's  daughter  and  her  husband  to 
answer  in  his  behalf.  As  they  appeared  no  more  than  the  duke,  he  arraigned 
Mary  of  felony  for  advising  the  cities  of  Burgundy  not  to  submit  to  France. 


NOTES.  181 

Naturally  enough,  there  was  no  solution  of  this  matter  but  an  appeal  to 
arms.  Frederick  invoked  the  aid  of  all  Germany  in  behalf  of  his  son. 
Maximilian  took  the  field  at  the  head  of  20,000  men,  including  his  German 
cavalry,  and  300  archers  furnished  by  Edward  IV.  of  England.  Marshalling  his 
forces  at  St.  Omer,  he  invested  Terouenne,  which  was  occupied  by  a  French 
garrison.  A  French  army  under  Crevecceur  was  despatched  to  raise  the  siege. 
The  two  armies  met  on  the  field  of  Guinegate,  on  the  7th  of  August  1479. 
Maximilian's  order  of  battle  was  a  square,  with  his  German  cavalry  on  each 
wing,  the  English  archers  and  the  arquebusiers  in  front,  and  14,000  Flemish 
lancers,  under  Count  Romont  of  Savoy,  occupying  the  centre.  Crevecceur  and 
Tercy,  at  the  head  of  11,000  of  the  French  gendarmerie,  fell  upon  the  German 
cavalry  with  great  violence,  and  completely  scattered  them,  pursuing  the 
fugitives  to  the  gates  of  Aire»  Thinking  the  rout  complete,  the  next  thought  was 
©f  booty ;  arjd  the  archers  composing  the  French  centre,  with  the  valets  and 
vivandieres,  abandoned  themselves  to  the  pillage  of  the  arch-duke's  camp. 
Meanwhile  Maximilian,  seeing  the  overthrow  of  his  cavalry,  with  the  sangfroid 
of  a  veteran,  threw  himself  into  the  ranks  of  his  infantry,  and  falling  on  his 
knees  traced  the  Cross  on  the  ground,  kissed  it  while  repeating  his  Pater  Noster, 
and  called  the  whole  army,  nobles  and  soldiers,  to  join  him  in  this  act  of 
adoration.  The  arch-duke  then  led  an  attack  on  the  archers,  while  Count 
Romont  advanced  the  lancers,  among  whom  were  some  two  hundred  Flemish 
gentlemen,  and  Count  Engelbert  of  Nassau  brought  into  the  fight  some 
squadrons  yet  unbroken  of  the  German  cavalry.  A  frightful  massacre  ensued. 
Crevecoeur  returned  from  the  pursuit  in  time  to  share  in  the  disaster.  His 
cavalry  were  worn  with  fatigue  and  encumbered  with  plunder,  and  could  only 
save  themselves  as  they  best  might,  or  perish  under  the  swords  of  the  victorious 
foe.  Maximilian  exposed  himself  with  more  recklessness  than  became  a  com- 
mander, was  three  times  in  imminent  peril  of  his  life,  and  once  narrowly  escaped 
being  taken  prisoner. 

The  French  abandoned  their  booty,  and  their  camp,  with  its  artillery,  pro- 
visions and  baggage.  The  chief  Flemish  gentlemen,  whose  valour  had  con- 
tributed largely  to  the  glory  of  the  day,  were  knighted  upon  the  field. 

See  the  extract  from  the  Memoirs  of  Jean  Sire  de  Dadyze"le,  in  the  Appendix 
to  Delapierre's  translation  of  the  Wonderlyke  Oorloghen  van  den  doorluchtigen 
hochgeboren  Prince  Kaiser  Maximiliaen :  and  Pontus  Heuterus,  Rerum 
Austriacarum,  lib.  i.  cap.  9. 


1 82  NOTES. 

NOTE  7,  p.  29. 

The  extreme  penuriousness  of  Frederick  was  well  understood.  Commines 
describes  him  as  "  le  plus  parfaitement  chiche  homme,  que  prince  ny  aultre  qui 
ait  este*  de  nostre  temps." 

NOTE  8,  p.  40. 

Philip  I,  styled  the  Handsome,  was  born  at  Bruges  23rd  June,  1478,  and 
married  Joanna,  heiress  to  the  crowns  of  Castile  and  Arragon.  From  this 
marriage  sprang  two  princes,  afterwards  emperors,  under  the  titles  of  Charles  V. 
and  Ferdinand  I.,  the  ancestors  of  the  Spanish  and  German  lines  of  the  Haps- 
burgs.  Philip  died  at  Burgos,  25th  September,  1506,  of  a  fever  brought  on  by 
drinking  freely  of  cold  water,  when  heated  in  a  game  of  tennis. 

Gustave  Bergenroth  alleges  that  it  was  the  general  contemporary  opinion 
that  he  was  poisoned. 

Prescott  considers  it  fortunate  for  Ferdinand  the  Catholic,  father-in-law  of 
Philip,  that  the  circumstances  of  his  death  were  too  notorious  and  too  well- 
attested  to  admit  of  any  such  suspicion. 

Writing  some  three  centuries  nearer  the  event,  Pontus  Heuterus  is  more 
guarded  in  his  expressions  than  the  decipherer  or  the  historian.  "  Divers  were 
the  opinions  of  men,"  he  says,  "  in  regard  to  his  death,  and  with  the  vulgar  it 
was  attributed  to  various  causes,  of  which,  as  we  can  affirm  nothing  positively, 
we  think  it  best  to  be  silent ;  lest  by  imprudently  giving  currency  to  rash 
opinions  we  should,  to  credulous  men  and  women  prone  to  adopt  sinister  inter- 
pretations, afford  ground  for  injuring  somebody's  reputation.  For  there  are 
some  persons  who  dared  to  say  that  poison  was  given  to  him  by  men  of  no 
small  consideration  at  that  time." — Rerum  Austriacarum,  lib.  vi.  cap.  10. 

LOVE'S   PARTING. 
NOTE  9,  p.  41. 

In  March,  1481,  Mary  of  Burgundy,  in  a  hunting  party  in  the  environs  of 
Bruges,  was  thrown  from  her  horse,  and  died  of  the  injuries  received  in  the  fall 
three  weeks  afterwards.  The  Flemish  chronicle,  already  cited,  gives  a  simple 
and  touching  picture  of  the  last  scene.  See  chapter  74  of  the  Wonderlyke 
Oorloghen. 


NOTES.  183 

NOTE  10,  p.  43. 

Philip  before-mentioned,  and  Margaret  of  Austria.  The  latter,  born  in 
1480,  was  married,  when  not  two  years  old,  to  Charles  the  dauphin  of  France, 
and  by  him  repudiated  when,  as  Charles  VIII.,  he  wished  to  annex  to  his  crown 
the  domain  of  Anne  princess  of  Brittany,  and  took  the  princess  as  his  wife. 
Margaret  afterwards  married  Don  John,  heir  to  the  Spanish  throne,  who  died  in  a 
few  months,  leaving  her  an  august  widow  of  twenty  years.  Philibert  1 1.,  duke  of 
Savoy,  was  her  next  short-lived  husband ;  and  again  a  widow,  she  was 
appointed,  on  the  death  of  her  brother  Philip  I.,  governess  of  the  Netherlands. 
In  her  administration  she  displayed  eminent  proofs  of  energy,  prudence,  and 
capacity,  till  her  death  in  1530.  See  the  Correspondance  de  I'Empereur 
Maximilian  et  de  Marguerite  d'Atitriche,  sa  fille,  gouvernante  des  Pays  Bas, 
edited  from  the  original  MSS.,  by  M.  Le  Glay,  and  published  by  the  Socie'te' 
de  THistoire  de  France,  in  1839. 

NOTE  n,  p.  44. 

John  Trittheim,  an  eminent  historian  and  theologian,  distinguished  for  his 
learning  and  piety,  born  in  1462,  was  elected  Abbot  of  Spannheim  at  the  age  of 
twenty  years.  Noblemen,  prelates,  men  of  letters,  and  princes  from  all  parts  of 
Italy,  France,  and  Germany,  sought  his  society  and  conversation. 

But  the  very  powers  which  induced  this  homage  exposed  him  to  the  charge 
of  necromancy  and  sorcery  ;  and  Augustin  Lorcheimer  relates,  in  his  Treatise  on 
Magic,  that  Trittheim  sought  permission  of  the  arch-duke  Maximilian  to  bring 
his  wife  before  him,  whose  death  had  driven  him  almost  to  despair.  Maxi- 
milian consented,  and  retired  to  a  private  chamber  with  one  of  the  principal 
gentlemen  of  his  court  and  the  magician,  who  forbade  them  on  pain  of  death 
to  utter  a  single  word.  Mary  of  Burgundy  appeared  to  them  in  all  her  beauty, 
and  arrayed  in  her  usual  fashion.  Maximilian  satisfied  himself  that  there  was 
no  illusion,  and  being  no  longer  able  to  doubt  that  his  wife  was  before  him,  he 
was  seized  with  a  sudden  fright,  and  by  his  gestures  commanded  the  magician 
to  cause  the  phantom  to  disappear.  He  obeyed,  and  was  forbidden  to  attempt 
anything  of  the  kind  in  future. 

"  Thus  it  is,"  says  the  Abbd  d'Artigny,  "  that  they  dared  to  calumniate  the 
Abbe  Trittheim,  one  of  the  most  learned  and  laborious  writers  of  his  age,  whose 


1 84  NOTES. 

whole  life  was  animated  by  piety  and  religion.  His  singular  treatise  on  the  art 
of  writing  in  cipher  made  him  pass  for  a  magician  in  the  eyes  of  the  vulgar,  and 
there  were  not  wanting  well-educated  but  too  credulous  people,  who  judged  the 
same  of  him,  especially  in  the  i6th  century,  when  they  thought  they  saw  sorcerers 
all  about  them.  The  explanation  that  has  been  given  of  the  Stenographic  of 
Trittheim  proves  that  he  was  no  more  of  a  magician  than  all  the  great  men 
whose  apology  has  been  given  by  NaudeV' — Nouveaux  Memoires  d'Histoire,  de 
Critique,  &c.  iv.  22. 

MAX  AND   FLANDERS. 

NOTE  12,  p.  48. 

William,  Count  of  Arenberg,  or  of  Mark,  with  the  sobriquet  of  the  Boar  of 
Ardennes. 

NOTE  13,  p.  48. 

In  the  belfry  of  Ghent,  a  high  tower  near  the  cathedral,  erected  in  1183, 
hang  three  bells,  to  which  the  inhabitants  give  the  name  of  Roland,  each  bell 
weighing  11,000  pounds,  one  bearing  this  inscription  : — 

Roland,  Roland,  als  ich  kleppe,  dann  ist  Brand, 

Als  ich  luye,  dann  ist  Oorloghe  in  Vlaenderland. 

NOTE  14,  p.  49. 

France,  by  secret  emissaries,  first  instigated  and  encouraged  the  rebellious 
movements  in  Flanders,  which  she  afterwards  openly  sustained. 

NOTE  15,  p;49. 

The  states  of  the  Netherlands,  except  those  of  Flanders,  recognized  Maxi- 
milian as  the  guardian  of  his  children.  The  Gheriters,  however,  having 
possession  of  their  persons,  affianced  Margaret  to  the  Dauphin  and  sent  her 
to  France ;  and  keeping  Philip  in  close  custody  administered  the  government 
in  his  name.  On  this,  Olivier  de  la  Marche  observes — "  My  lord,  the  arch- 
duke resembles  St.  Eustace,  from  whom  a  wolf  stole  his  son  and  a  lion  his 
daughter." 


NOTES.  185 

NOTE  1 6,  p.  51. 

The  story  of  this  walk  in  the  wood  is  told  by  Dr.  Joseph  Griinbeck  in  his  Life 
of  Maximilian,  where  he  devotes  a  chapter  to  the  *'  ingenious  capture  of  the 
fortified  city  of  Tarmundt.'* 

Flanders  being  in  open  insurrection,  Maximilian  was  obliged  to  take  up  arms, 
and  his  first  expedition  was  against  Dendermonde.  At  Mechlin  he  constructed 
three  waggons,  which  he  filled  with  the  most  daring  youths  in  his  service.  In 
one  waggon  they  were  dressed  like  nuns,  with  painted  faces,  and  the  Lady 
Abbess  in  their  midst,  caressing  a  little  dog.  In  another,  they  played  the  part  of 
monks;  and  in -the  third  there  was  a  group  in  citizens'  clothes,  with  short 
swords  under  them.  In  this  disguise  they  proceeded  towards  Dendermonde  ; 
and  when  they  reached  the  gate  and  the  Abbess  was  parleying  with  the 
sentinels  for  admission,  the  others  leaped  from  the  waggons,  and,  repulsing  the 
small  guard,  which  they  took  by  surprise,  effected  an  entrance.  On  an  agreed 
signal  Maximilian,  who  was  posted  in  the  vicinky  with  a  small  troop  of  horse,  rode 
up  full  speed  to  the  gate,  and  after  a  sharp  skirmish,  in  which  several  citizens 
were  slain,  penetrated  to  the  market-place,  and  took  possession  of  the  town. 
The  war  thus  opened  resulted  in  the  submission  of  the  rebels,  and  Bruges  and 
Ghent  consented  to  recognize  Maximilian  as  the  governor  of  Flanders  and 
guardian  of  his  son,  on  condition  that  the  latter  should  not  leave  the  Nether- 
lands. His  entry  into  Ghent  was  triumphal.  Philip  with  many  of  the 
nobility  came  out  to  meet  him.  "  The  son  did  not  know  the  father,"  says 
Olivier  de  la  Marche,  "  but  when  he  approached,  the  father  kissed  his  son,  and 
the  son  burst  into  tears." 


MAXIMILIAN,   ROMAN   KING. 

NOTE  17,  p.  56. 

There  had  been  for  some  time  among  the  prince-electors  a  desire  to  raise 
the  Arch-duke  Maximilian  to  the  dignity  of  King  of  the  Romans.  The  emperor 
opposed  it,  but  nobody  knew  why.  Perhaps  the  ostensible  reason  was  the  real 
one,  when  he  said,  "  I  know  Max  better  than  you  do,  and  I  tell  you  he  is  not 
a  man  of  business."  But  the  emperor  changed  his  mind  of  a  sudden,  and  one 

B  B 


1 86  NOTES. 

day,  early  in  1486,  the  electors  at  his  suggestion  convened  at  Frankfort  to  go 
through  the  ceremony  of  an  election. 

There  was  a  great  afflux  to  Frankfort  on  that  day  of  nobles  and  clergy  ; 
dukes,  counts,  princes,  and  barons  ;  margraves  and  landgraves,  abbots,  bishops, 
and  archbishops  ;  learned  doctors  as  ambassadors  from  absentee  princes,  and 
counsellors  or  nuncios  from  Nuremberg  and  Cologne,  and  a  dozen  other  cities. 
And  the  names  of  all  of  them — Hohensteins  and  Hohenzollerns,  Schencks  and 
Broschencks,  Starenburgs  and  Stubenburgs, 'Obersteins  and  Katzenelnbogens, 
Sonnenbergs  and  Schwarzenbergs — fill  with  their  euphonious  vocables  at  least 
half-a-dozen  folio  pages  of  FREHER.  And  all  these  gentlemen,  with  their 
sometimes  conflicting  claims  of  precedence,  they  managed  to  arrange  in  a 
procession  for  marching  to  the  church  of  St.  Bartholomew.  But  it  was  an  act 
of  grace  worth  mentioning,  that  the  Prince  of  Brandenburg,  on  account  of  his 
age  and  infirmity,  was  permitted  to  enter  the  church  in  advance,  for  fear  of  the 
pressure  of  the  crowd.  Leaving  the  rest  to  get  in  as  they  may,  we  will  merely 
note  that  there  was  such  a  display  of  magnificent  dresses,  collars,  and  bracelets 
on  the  occasion,  that  the  chronicler  could  not  enumerate  them  in  a  day's  time. 

On  the  south  side  of  the  altar,  where  the  epistle  was  usually  read,  seats  had 
been  erected  for  the  emperor,  the  prince-electors,  and  the  arch-duke  ;  and  the 
highest  of  them  was  occupied  by  Frederick,  in  his  crown  and  imperial  robes. 
On  the  right  hand  were  the  Archbishop  of  Mayence,  Philip. of  Bavaria,  Count 
Palatine  of  the  Rhine,  and  Maximilian,  Arch-duke  of  Austria  and  Duke  of 
Burgundy.  On  the  left  were  the  Archbishop  of  Cologne,  Ernest,  Duke  of 
Saxony,  and  Albert  of  Brandenburg.  One  of  the  prince-electors  was  con- 
spicuous by  his  absence  ;  for  Frederick,  fearing  his  dissent,  had  not  invited 
the  attendance  of  the  King  of  Bohemia. 

Solemn  mass  was  said  at  the  high  altar.  The  Sanctus  was  chaunted  ;  at  its 
commencement,  the  crown  was  removed  from  the  head  of  the  emperor,  and  re- 
placed at  its  close  ;  while  the  sword,  apple,  and  sceptre  were  removed  and 
placed  in  the  hands  of  the  three  secular  electors. 

These  ceremonies  over,  the  prince-electors  approached  the  altar  to  be  sworn, 
and  immediately  went  into  conclave  to  elect  a  King  of  the  Romans.  The  elec- 
tion was  made  with  one  voice.  Counts  and  princes  were  called  in,  promiscuously, 
to  witness  it.  The  Archbishop  of  Cologne,  the  Count  Palatine,  and  the  Duke 
Ernest  of  Saxony  were  sent  to  inform  Maximilian  of  their  choice,  and  introduce 


NOTES.  187 

him  into  the  conclave.  Hence  he  was  conducted  after  a  short  delay,  and 
mounted  upon  the  altar,  while  the  organs  and  a  thousand  voices  burst  forth  with 
Te  Deum  laudamus.  The  chaunt  finished,  the  secretary  of  the  Archbishop  of 
Mayence,  by  special  commission  from  the  electors,  made  publication  of  their 
choice,  and  commanded  due  obedience  to  Maximilian,  as  King  of  the  Romans. 

After  a  few  days'  sojourn  in  Frankfort,  the  prince-electors  with  the  emperor 
and  young  king,  attended  by  a  distinguished  company  of  counts,  barons,  and  other 
nobles,  departed  for  Aix,  where  they  were  to  assist  in  the  coronation.  They 
stopped  en  route  at  Bingen,  and  afterwards  at  Rense,  where  they  placed  Maxi- 
milian, after  the  old  custom,  in  the  king's  seat ;  a  high  stone,  situated  without 
the  walls  of  the  town,  on  the  banks  of  the  Rhine.  There  was  the  usual 
programme  for  a  royal  party, — processions,  presents,  feasts,  and  masses,— through 
Andernach,  Cologne,  and  Duren,  till  they  made  their  solemn  entry  into  Aix. 
Five  days  were  required  to  make  the  arrangements,  and  the  gth  of  March  was 
announced  as  Coronation  Day. 

The  ceremonies  commenced  by  roasting  an  ox  before  the  King's  hotel. 
Within  the  ox  was  a  pig,  and  within  the  pig  a  goose,  and  within  the  goose  a 
hen.  From  the  ox  a  slice  was  cut  for  the  king,  and  then  the  people  fell  upon  it 
with  swords,  knives,  and  sticks,  each  striving  to  consume  more  than  his  neigh- 
bour. Before  the  palace  a  bronze  fountain  was  erected— with  a  black  eagle 
bearing  the  arms  of  the  Roman  king,  a  golden  lion  with  the  arms  of  Brabant 
on  one  side,  and  a  black  lion  with  the  arms  of  Flandria  on  the  other ;  all 
spouting  streams  of  Rhenish  wine.  Here  was  the  popular  rendezvous  of  poor 
men  and  rich. 

The  coronation  took  place  after  the  old  fashion.  There  was  a  great  proces- 
sion of  nobles,  secular  and  clerical,  and  much  show  of  scarlet  and  red  velvet 
with  gold  embroidery,  and  flashing  jewels  in  caps  and  mantles  ;  in  which  the 
prince-electors  were  almost  as  conspicuous  as  the  emperor  or  the  king.  As  they 
approached  the  entrance  of  the  cathedral,  they  were  met  by  the  spiritual  prince- 
electors,  with  their  mitres  and  crosiers,  in  full  pontificals.  A  priest  attended 
them  with  crosses,  a  censer,  and  a  copy  of  the  Evangelists.  Prelates,  bishops, 
and  abbots  swelled  the  circle.  Offices,  collects,  chaunts  and  benedictions  followed 
Maximilian  to  a  throne  before  the  altar  of  the  Virgin  Mary.  Mass  was  said  ; 
and  the  king,  having  laid  aside  his  outer  garment,  prostrated  himself  in  the 
form  of  a  cross  before  the  altar.  Two  clerks  commenced  singing  the  Litany, 


1 88  NOTES. 

when  the  Archbishop  of  Cologne  rose  with  his  crosier  in  hand,  and  said  :  '  That 
thou  mayst  be  pleased  to  elect  thy  servant  Maximilian  a  king.  The  clerks 
responded  :  We  beseech  thee,  hear  us.  The  archbishop  continued  :  That  thou 
mayst  be  pleased  to  bless,  raise,  and  consecrate  him.  Response  as  before  ;  and 
so  on  to  the  completion  of  the  Litany,  when  the  king  rose,  and  the  archbishop 
standing  before  the  altar  questioned  him  on  six  points  :  if  he  would  be  true  to  the 
Holy  Catholic  faith,  the  defence  of  the  Holy  Church  and  its  ministers,  the  just 
government  and  effective  defence  of  the  kingdom,  the  preservation  of  the  laws 
of  the  kingdom  and  the  empire,  and  the  honest  administration  of  their  effects ; 
even  justice  to  the  poor  and  rich,  and  the  protection  of  the  widows  and  orphans, 
and  his  due  subjection  to  the  holy  father  in  Christ,  the  Roman  Pontiff  and  the 
Holy  Roman  Church.  To  all  of  which  inquiries  he  gave  the  anticipated  affirm- 
ative response  ;  and  being  then  led  to  the  altar,  placed  on  it  two  fingers  of  his 
right  hand,  and  swore  :  "  In  so  far  as  I  shall  be  sustained  by  divine  assistance, 
and  be  strengthened  by  the  prayers  of  faithful  Christians,  I  will  faithfully  fulfil 
all  the  premises,  and  may  God  help  me,  and  all  his  saints  ! "  Being  again  placed 
before  the  altar,  the  archbishop  presented  him  to  the  assembled  princes  of 
Germany,  the  clergy  and  the  people,  and  asked  with  due  circumlocution  if  they 
would  accept  him  as  their  King  ;  to  which  they  responded — Be  it  so  ! 

They  then  led  the  king  to  the  altar,  where  he  prostrated  himself  at  full  length 
on  the  ground,  and  remained  so  while  the  archbishop  pronounced  an  elaborate 
benediction  over  him.  This  finished,  they  raised  him  upon  his  knees  and 
stripped  his  shoulders  and  breast,  and  the  joints  of  his  arms  ;  and  as  he  knelt 
with  his  hands  clasped  in  the  attitude  of  prayer,  the  archbishop  poured  the  holy 
oil  upon  his  head,  breast,  between  the  shoulders  and  the  arm-joints,  the  arch- 
bishop saying  With  the  holy  oil  I  anoint  thee  as  king,  in  the  name  of  the 
Father,  and  the  Son,  and  the  Holy  "Ghost.  The  palms  of  his  hands  were  then 
anointed  ;  and  after  appropriate  chaunts  and  choruses,  the  king  was  attended  to 
the  sacristy,  where  the  elders  of  the  chapter  rubbed  off  the  anointed  places  with 
the  finest  wool.  This  done,  the  lords  of  the  chapter  clad  him  in  sandals  and  a 
white  robe  ;  and  returning  before  the  altar,  he  again  prostrated  himself  in  the 
form  of  a  cross.  Again  collects,  benedictions,  and  chaunts,  and  a  beautiful 
prologue  by  the  archbishop,  when  the  prelates  put  a  cap  on  the  king's  head, 
and  presented  a  naked  sword  with  an  appropriate  speech  ;  which  finished,  they 
replaced  the  sword  in  its  sheath  and  belted  it  on  the  king.  With  another 


NOTES.  189 

speech  the  Archbishop  of  Cologne  then  delivered  to  him  the  ring,  the  bracelets, 
and  a  mantle.  Again,  with  a  speech,  the  Archbishop  of  Cologne  delivered  the 
sceptre  and  the  regal  apple.  This  concluded,  the  three  spiritual  prince-electors 
the  Archbishops  of  Cologne,  Mechlin,  and  Treves,  all  three  together  placed  the 
crown  of  Charlemagne  on  his  head,  each  repeating  the  formula,  Receive  the 
crown,  &c.  The  king  was  then  conducted  to  the  altar,  on  which  he  laid  his  two 
hands,  and  made  profession  to  the  people  of  his  intent  to  reign  righteously,  and 
to  render  due  honour  to  the  Pope  of  Rome  and  the  Roman  Church.  This 
profession  made,  the  king  was  conducted  to  his  throne  or  the  very  royal  stone 
seat  of  Charlemagne,  before  the  altar  of  the  Apostles  Simon  and  Jude,  where, 
holding  the  sword  of  Charlemagne  in  his  hand,  he  made  some  two  hundred 
knights.  Sceptre  in  hand,  the  king  approached  the  offertory,  and  threw  in  a 
handful  of  gold  coin,  followed  by  the  Archbishops  of  Treves  and  Mechlin,  and 
by  the  secular  prince-electors.  Thus  the' mass  was  said,  down  to  the  Pax,  when 
the  Archbishop  of  Cologne  turned  towards  the  people  and  bestowed  his  bene- 
diction on  the  king.  The  king  was  then  admitted  as  a  prebendary  in  the  Church, 
and  gave  the  admission-wine  according  to  custom,  appointed  vicars  to  represent 
him,  and  thus  ended  the  Coronation. 

Then  came  the  grand  procession  to  the  town  hall  where  dinner  was  pre- 
pared. The  nobles  took  the  lead,  counts  and  barons  in  great  numbers  followed ; 
trumpeters  and  heralds  ;  prelates,  bishops  and  princes  ;  the  electors  of  the 
empire — first  the  Archbishop  of  Treves,  second  Ernest  Duke  of  Saxony,  with  a 
naked  sword  before  the  king  ;  on  his  right  Philip  Count  Palatine  with  the  golden 
apple;  on  his  left,  bearing  the  sceptre,  the  representative  of  the  Margrave  of 
Brandenburg  who  had  died.  The  king  with  sword  on  thigh,  and  wearing  the 
royal  crown,  with  the  Archbishop  of  Cologne  on  his  right,  and  the  Archbishop 
of  Mechlin  on  his  left,  in  the  vestures  and  ornaments  appropriate  to-  their 
electoral  rank  ;  and  the  Emperor  in  his  crown  and  cap,  attended  by  his  herald. 
And  as  they  went  to  the  town  hall,  money  was  scattered  among  the  people 
in  the  king's  name — Rhenish  florins  to  wit,  and  silver  pieces  to  the  value  of 
three  hundred  florins — no  very  large  sum  even  for  those  days  ;  but  the  king  was 
poor,  and  the  emperor  parsimonious.  But  the  people,  we  are  told,  ran  after 
the  money  rather  than  the  king. 

At  the  town  hall  was  the  great  banquet  given  by  the  king  to  the  princes. 
When  the  procession  arrived,  Ernest  of  Saxony,  with  a  silver  measure  and 


190  NOTES. 

a  silver  staff  in  his  hand,  mounted  his  horse,  and  drove  him  breast-high 
into  a  huge  pile  of  grain  that  was  collected  in  the  market-place.  The  silver 
measure  he  filled  with  grain  and  handed  it  to  one  of  his  followers.  His  office 
thus  fulfilled,  the  crowd  rushed  in,  and  the  grain  was  soon  scattered  broad-cast 
through  the  market-place. 

In  the  hall  there  was  a  table  raised  above  the  rest,  and  covered  with  a  cloth 
richly  inlaid  with  the  arms  of  Burgundy,  for  his  imperial  majesty  and  the  king. 
When  they  were  ready  for  dinner,  the  bishop-elect,  Augustensis  of  Hohenzone, 
in  the  place  of  the  deceased  Prince  of  Brandenburg,  preceded  by  Ernest  of 
Saxony  with  a  black  rod,  brought  napkins  and  water  in  silver  ewers.  The  three 
archbishops  asked  a  blessing  ;  and  taking  the  seal  from  the  imperial  chancery, 
they  placed  it  with  a  rod  before  the  king.  Duke  Ernest,  with  his  black  rod, 
preceded  the  Count  Palatine,  Prince  Elector  and  Dapifer  of  the  Roman  Empire, 
to  the  king's  kitchen  with  four  silver  dishes  in  his  hands.  The  Count  Palatine 
returned  on  horseback  to  the  town  hall,  dismounted,  ascended  the  steps,  and 
placed  the  dishes  on  the  table  of  the  king.  And  after  the  prince-electors  had 
discharged  their  -several  offices,  each  of  them  sat  down  apart  at  the  table  pre- 
pared for  him,  indicated  by  his  own  coat  of  arms. 

How  the  barons,  prelates  and  princes,  and  the  rest  should  be  arranged,  with 
due  regard  to  their  several  claims  for  precedence,  was  a  matter  to  which  the 
chief  marshal  no  doubt  was  obliged  to  address  his  whole  mind.  The  fifth  place 
had  been  assigned  to  the  consuls  of  the  city  of  Frankfort,  and  the  sixth  to  the 
consuls  of  Nuremberg.  The  Nurembergers  applied  to  the  marshal  to  know  why 
the  Frankforters  had  been  assigned  the  higher  place.  The  marshal  replied  that 
he  found  it  so  written  down  in  his  register.  But  not  content  with  this  they 
appealed  to  the  king,  who  responded — "  Since  in  Frankfort  we  were  elected 
king,  for  this  occasion  the  Frankforters  must  stay  where  they  are — we  will  think 
of  precedence  and  places  another  time." 

But  as  the  exhausted  historian  of  the  day's  events  observes — Who  can  tell 
all  ?  Enough,  that  there  were  courses  numberless,  and  the  dishes  were  always 
full — there  were  roasted  hares,  lambs  and  peacocks,  and  all  manner  of  birds, 
beasts  and  fishes,  and  the  finest  and  most  precious  wines.  And  while  the 
princes  were  despatching  all  these  dainties  within,  the  poor  without  were  not 
forgotten  ;  but  received  through  the  windows  bread  and  flesh,  including  lambs 
and  hares  roasted  whole ;  and  we  are  told  there  was  great  clamour  in  the 


NOTES.  I9r 

market-place.  In  the  hall  there  was  great  silence  and  decorum,  for  Maximilian 
was  no  friend  to  revelry.  And  when  the  banquet  at  an  early  hour  was  finished, 
napkins  and  water  in  silver  ewers  were  again  brought  to  the  royal  and  imperial 
table,  and  the  three  archbishops  returned  thanks — and  there  was  an  end  to  the 
Coronation  Day. 

De    Corotiatione    Maximiliani   Regis    Rotnanorum,   iii.    FREHER,    Rerum 
Germanicarum  Scriptores,  pp.  22-41. 


THRONE  AND  TRIPOD. 

NOTE  1 8,  p.  59. 

During  the  regency  of  Maximilian,  Flanders  remained  in  a  state  of  chronic 
discontent,  sometimes  breaking  out  into  open  revolt  and  insurrection.  It  was, 
therefore,  in  opposition  to  the  advice  of  his  wisest  counsellors  that  the  king 
accepted  a  friendly  invitation  of  the  authorities  of  Bruges  to  pay  them  the  visit 
at  Candlemas  in  1488,  which  resulted  in  the  scenes  described  in  the  text. 

NOTE  19,  p.  74. 

The  citizens  had  affixed  the  following  chronogram  on  the  door  of  the 
Kranenburg :  "  reX  .  non  .  est .  hIC  .  eCCe  .  LoCUs .  Vbi .  PosVerVnt .  IpsVM." 

ST.  MARTIN'S  WALL. 

NOTE  20,  p.  77. 

St.  Martin's  Wall  is  a  stupendous  precipice  of  the  Solstein  mountain, 
descending  to  the  very  bank  of  the  Inn.  In  pursuing  a  chamois  on  the  rocks 
above,  the  imperial  hunter  lost  his  footing,  and  rolled  headlong  to  the  verge  of 
the  precipice,  where  he  clung,  head  downwards,  to  a  ledge  seemingly  in- 
accessible. So  desperate  was  his  position  that  the  abbot  of  Wilton  offered  up 
prayers  at  the  foot  of  the  rock  for  a  person  on  the  point  of  death.  As  he  lay 
there  without  hope,  commending  his  soul  to  heaven,  he  was  roused  by  a  loud 
halloo  from  a  hunter  named  Zips,  a  poacher,  who  had  fled  to  the  mountains  to 
avoid  prosecution  for  his  offences.  By  the  daring  efforts  of  this  man  he  was 


192  NOTES. 

rescued  from  a  position  so  perilous  that  the  common  people  to  this  day 
attribute  his  deliverance  to  supernatural  interposition.  A  crucifix  eighteen  feet 
high,  placed  in  a  recess  cut  in  the  rock,  marks  the  scene  of  this  occurrence. 
The  emperor's  pension  list,  still  extant,  shows  that  sixteen  florins  annually  were 
paid  to  one  Zips  of  Zirl,  the  picturesque  village  at  the  base  of  the  mountain  ; 
and  tradition  there  says  that  Maximilian  rewarded  his  preserver  with  the  title  of 
Count  Hollauer  von  Hohenfelsen. 


MAX  BEFORE  VIENNA. 

NOTE  21,  p.  82. 

Matthias  Corvin,  King  of  Hungary,  the  most  illustrious  monarch  of  his  age, 
had  been  for  thirty  years  the  plague  -of  the  emperor,  and  had  overrun  Austria 
and  taken  Vienna  in  1485.  Frederick  was  unwilling  to  pay  the  700,000  florins  he 
demanded  for  the  evacuation  of  his  territory  ;  and  the  more  so  as  the  astrologers 
had  predicted  the  king's  death  in  1490.  In  that  year  it  occurred.  The  widow  of 
Matthias  seems  to  have  contemplated  the  settlement  of  the  difficulty  by  a 
marriage  with  Maximilian  ;  but  when  he  addressed  her  reverently  as  his  "  good 
mother,"  she  ceased  to  be  sanguine  on  this  point.  Maximilian  raised  an  army 
of  several  thousand  men,  and  entered  Vienna  amid  the  acclamations  of  its 
citizens.  The  citadel,  occupied  by  an  Hungarian  garrison,  resisted  successfully 
two  storming  parties,  in  one  of  which  the  king  who  led  it  was  wounded.  On  the 
tenth  day  the  garrison  surrendered,  and  its  fall  was  followed  by  the  early 
surrender  of  other  strongholds  and  the  expulsion  of  the  Hungarians  from 
Austria. 


GERMAN  USAGE. 

NOTE  22,  p.  90. 

Frederick  III.  passed  his  last  days  at  Linz,  engaged  in  the  study  of 
astronomy  and  alchemy;  and  died  there  in  August  1493  Soon  afterwards 
Maximilian,  as  emperor,  convened  the  Diet  at  Worms,  where  among  other 
things  he  promulgated  the  famous  ordinance  for  abolishing  private  wars,  styled 


NOTES.  193 

the  "  Treuga  Dei."  It  was  at  this  time  that  the  French  knight  De  Barre  came 
to  Worms,  and  by  the  mouth  of  a  herald  challenged  the  Germans  to  a  single 
combat.  He  was  famed  for  his  prowess  in  such  encounters,  and  no  one 
dared  to  accept  his  challenge.  Maximilian  therefore  resolved  to  enter  the  lists 
himself,  and  fought  the  Frenchman  with  the  lance  first,  and  afterwards  with  the 
sword.  De  Barre  with  a  thrust  fissured  the  emperor's  armour,  and  wounded 
him  slightly — whereupon  Maximilian  set  upon  him  with  so  much  vigour  that  he 
called  for  quarter,  and  promised  to  render  himself  prisoner  at  the  court  of  his 
conqueror.  It  was  whispered  at  Worms  that  De  Barre  had  been  sent  by  the 
French  Court. 


KNIGHTS  AND   FREEMEN. 

NOTE  23,  p.  95. 

The  incidents  of  this  imperial  campaign  in  Switzerland  are  related  by 
Billibald  Pirkheimer,  "  the  German  Zenophon,"  in  his  Historia  Belli  Helvetici, 
iii.  FREHER,  pp.  67-90. 

Their  victories  over  Charles  the  Bold  had  given  the  Swiss  great  military 
reputation,  and  ambassadors  from  all  the  powers  were  negotiating  for  their 
friendship  Maximilian  tried  every  means  to  secure  them,  but  they  would 
acknowledge  no  allegiance  to  the  empire,  and  the  one  thing  needful  the  emperor 
was  not  able  to  produce.  Point  d'argent,  point  de  Suisse j  and  while  other 
powers  only  promised,  France  paid,  and  with  France  the  Swiss  continued  to 
cast  their  fortunes.  War  was  the  consequence.  This  was  the  last  attempt 
to  dissolve  the  Confederation  and  attach  it  to  the  wheel  of  the  empire.  The 
Swiss  came  out  of  the  struggle  with  greater  glory  than  ever. 

NOTE  24,  p.  99. 

A  Dieu  mon  ame, 
Ma  vie  au  roy, 
Mon  cceur  aux  dames, 
L'honneur  pour  moi. 
C  C 


194  NOTES. 

NOTE  25,  p.  103. 

In  the  bittle  of  Frastenz.  like  Winkelried  at  Sempach,  Henry  Wohlleb  of 
Uri,  a  brave  and  veteran  soldier,  pushing  his  long  halberd  transversely  under 
the  spears  of  half  a  dozen  of  the  enemy,  lifted  them  with  great  force  into 
the  air,  and  thus  held  a  passage  for  his  comrades  till  he  fell  covered  with 
wounds.  At  the  same  battle  of  Sempach,  Nicholas  Gutt,  mayor  of  Zofinger, 
wno  carried  the  banner,  tore  it  in  pieces,  to  prevent  it  from  falling  into  the 
enemy's  hands  ;  and  was  found  after  the  battle  under  heaps  of  the  dead  with 
the  stall  of  the  banner  between  his  teeth.  Since  then  the  mayors  of  Zofinger 
have  been  sworn  to  guard  their  town-banner  as  well  as  did  Nicholas  Gutt.  See 
J.  von  Muller's  History  of  the  Swiss  Confederacy,  Book  II.  and  Pirkheimer 
11 1  supra. 


THE   FIGHT   AT   THE   GRAVE. 

NOTE  26,  p.  115. 

This  episode  in  Maximilian's  history  is  known  as  the  War  of  the  Bavarian 
Succession.  By  conquest  and  inheritance,  Bavaria  had  fallen  under  the 
jurisdiction  of  two  dukes — George  the  Rich,  of  the  Landshut  line,  and  his 
cousin  Albert,  of  the  line  of  Munich.  They  made  a  covenant  that  if  either 
should  die  without  male  issue,  the  survivor  should  inherit  his  estates  ;  but  when 
George  found  that  Albert  was  likely  to  survive  him,  he  thought  this  taking  an 
unfair  advantage,  and  on  his  death-bed  shocked  his  ghostly  advisers  by  the  gross 
abuse  of  his  cousin.  In  these  last  days,  he  left  by  will  all  his  vast  possessions 
to  his  daughter  Elizabeth,  wife  of  the  Palsgrave  Robert,  son  of  the  Elector 
Palatine  ;  and,  having  formed  secret  alliances  with  the  kings  of  France  and 
Bohemia,  swore  the  most  daring  of  his  vassals  to  fealty  to  his  son-in-law. 

But  Albert  looked  on  the  matter  in  a  different  light  ;'  and,  having  a  friend  at 
court  in  Maximilian,  whose  sister  Cunigunde  he  had  married,  he  called  on  the 
emperor  to  aid  him  in  enforcing  the  covenant.  Maximilian  accepted  the 
opportunity  of  administering  on  this  large  estate,  and  not  the  less  readily, 
perhaps,  because  he  had  some  claims  of  his  own  against  it.  Albert  at  the  same 
time  made  friends  with  the  Suabian  League,  with  the  margrave  Frederick  of 


NOTES.  195 

Brandenburg,  the  landgrave  William  of  Hesse,  and  the  city  of  Nuremberg. 
The  duke  Ulric  of  Wurtemburg  he  secured  by  the  promise  of  his  daughter  in 
marriage,  with  a  portion  of  200,000  guilders,  to  be  paid  no  doubt  from  the  estate 
in  controversy. 

Maximilian  now  held  a  Suabian  Diet  at  Ulm,  where  he  enfeoffed  the  Duke 
Albert  with  the  lands  of  his  deceased  cousin.  In  spite  of  this  decision,  Robert 
entered  into  the  possession  of  Landshut,  including  Burghausen  and  the  treasures 
of  gold,  silver,  and  precious  stones  which  had  been  amassed  by  three  acquisitive 
generations,  and  which  were  said  to  exceed  by  far  those  of  any  other  German 
prince. 

So  another  diet  was  called- -this  time  at  Augsburg.  The  parties  appeared 
by  attorney,  and  there  was  an  elaborate  discussion  of  the  feudal  right  of  female 
inheritance.  It  was  obvious  enough, — the  suggestion  of  the  Canon  of  Bamberg 
on  Robert's  behalf, — that  through  this  right  the  emperor  himself  had  acquired 
some  of  his  fairest  possessions.  Maximilian  took  all  this  in  good  part,  and  did 
his  best  to  effect  a  compromise.  Failing  in  this,  he  called  in  the  president  and 
assessors  of  the  Chamber  of  Justice,  to  assist  the  princes  and  electors  in 
reaching  a  proper  decision.  The  result  was  another  judgment  in  Albert's 
favour. 

But  Robert  made  as  light  of  the  Diet  of  Augsburg  as  of  the  Diet  of  Ulm. 
He  thought  possession  nine  points  of  the  law.  With  Burghausen  and  its 
treasures  in  hand  he  could  defy  the  empire,  and  by  protracted  hostilities  worry 
out  the  somewhat  impecunious  Albert.  By  a  huge  bribe,  he  induced  Pinzenauer 
to  betray  the  strong  castle  of  Kuffstein.  He  scattered  money  with  both  hands. 
Opening  the  war 'in  Lower  Bavaria,  he  carried  everything  before  him  at  the 
start.  The  troops  of  Albert  deserted  for  the  want  of  pay,  but  new  allies  came  to 
his  aid.  Many  bold  bacons  found  they  had  cause  of  grievance  against  the 
elector  Palatine,  and  on  one  side  or  the  other  nearly  all  Germany  took  part 
in  the  quarrel.  Less,  than  a  year,  however,  sufficed  to  disperse  all  the 
treasures  of  Burghausen — the  coinage  of  the  colossal  silver  statues  of  the 
twelve  apostles  inclusive.  Fevered  and  exhausted  by  the  excitements  of  the  con- 
flict Robert  died  suddenly.  His  wife,  who  was  of  the  same  fiery  temper,  and  who 
had  appeared  in  the  camp  in  boots  and  spurs,  armed  with  a  battle-axe, 
followed  him  before  many  days. 

They  left  two  children,  heirs  presumptive  to  the  pretensions  of  Robert.     In 


I96  NOTES. 

their  behalf,  Philip,  the  elector  Palatine,  took  the  field  with  some  thousand 
Bohemians,  fell  upon  the  Brandenburg  provinces,  burned  down  some  towns, 
and  shut  himself  up  in  his  castle  at  Heidelberg,  which  was  strongly  fortified. 

The  war  now  raged  with  barbarous  fury  in  the  Palatinate.  Towns  and 
villages,  to  the  number  of  one  hundred  and  fifty,  were  sacked  and  burned,  and 
all  the  country  about  Heidelberg  was  laid  waste.  Maximilian  came  down 
the  Danube  with  a  numerous  force,  and  met  the  Bohemians,  in  the  pay  of 
the  Count  Palatine,  at  Mengesbach  near  Ratisbon.  On  his  approach  the 
enemy  burned  their  tents,  and  posted  themselves  on  an  eminence  behind  a 
barricade  of  waggons,  in  front  of  which  they  had  erected  a  fence  with  their 
shields,  spiked  in  the  ground  and  joined  together  by  chains. 

Prince  Casimir  was  sent,  with  400  cavalry  and  eight  Nuremburg  field  pieces, 
to  attack  them  on  their  right  flank  and  dislodge  them ;  but  he  met  with  so 
warm  a  reception  that  he  was  glad  to  leave  his  eight  pieces  on  the  field,  and  fly 
to  the  nearest  wood.  Maximilian  then  headed  in  person  a  charge  at  full  speed 
on  the  centre,  and  was  engaged  in  the  thickest  of  the  fray, — was  turned  in  his 
saddle,  and  was  on  the  point  of  losing  his  life  or  his  liberty.  From  this 
imminent  peril  he  was  rescued  by  Eric  of  Brunswick,  who  was  himself 
wounded  in  the  encounter,  and  carried  out  of  the  battle  to  Ratisbon.  The 
Bohemians  formed  into  small  squares  of  sixteen  men  each,  and  fought  with 
desperate  courage,  but  were  finally  routed  with  terrible  slaughter.  Six  hundred 
were  taken  prisoners  ;  and,  as  an  offset  to  the  capture  of  their  cannon,  the 
Nuremberg  boys  bore  off  seven  standards  in  triumph.  Maximilian  rewarded 
his  preserver  by  adding  a  golden  star  in  a  peacock's  tail  to  his  coat  of  arms, 
and  giving  him  for  life  the  income  of  the  county  of  Gortz. 

Maximilian  now  besieged  the  castle  of  Kuffstein,  situated  on  a  high  rock 
overlooking  the  Inn,  on  the  borders  of  Tyrol  and  Bavaria,  in  command  of 
the  same  Pinzenauer  who  had  betrayed  it.  He  opened  on  it  with  seven 
batteries  in  vain,  for  the  walls  were  fourteen  feet  in  thickness.  They  yielded, 
however,  to  the  knocks  of  Purlepaus  and  Wakeup,  and  Pinzenauer  sought 
permission  to  withdraw.  This  was  refused,  on  the  ground  that  he  had  wan- 
tonly compelled  the  unnecessary  destruction  of  fhe  fine  castle.  To  this  may 
be  referred  the  cruel  judgment  executed  on  a  portion  of  the  prisoners  taken 
after  a  siege  of  fourteen  days,  the  incidents  of  which  are  substantially  described 
in  the  verse. 


NOTES.  197 

The  fall  of  Kuffstein  precipitated  the  close  of  the  war.  Philip  consented 
to  submit  the  matter  in  dispute  to  the  next  diet,  which  was  held  at  Cologne. 
The  ban  of  the  empire  was  lifted  from  his  head,  and  a  universal  amnesty 
declared.  Provision  was  made  for  the  sons  of  Robert,  from  the  debris  of  the 
Burghausen  treasures  and  certain  territorial  rights  in  what  was  called  the  Young 
Palatinate.  Albert's  allies,  the  landgraves  and  margraves,  the  dukes  and  reve- 
rend clergy,  and  the  city  of  Nuremberg,  took  a  town  or  a  castle,  or  both, 
here  and  there.  The  emperor  did  not  omit  to  indemnify  himself  for  the  time, 
trouble,  and  money  expended  about  the  business.  He  took  numerous  lordships 
and  castles,  including  Kuffstein,  and  adjusted  in  his  own  way  all  the  accounts, 
whether  of  money  or  territory,  outstanding  between  Bavaria  and  the  House 
of  Austria.  What  remained,  satisfied  the  Duke  Albert  of  Munich. 


NOTE  27,  p.  124. 

Maximilian  prided  himself  on  his  artillery,  in  which  he  introduced  numer- 
ous improvements.  He  loved  his  cannon  as  other  men  love  their  horses. 
Besides  his  two  favourites,  Purlepaus  and  Wakeup,  we  read  of  the  Night- 
ingale, the  Tickler,  the  Singers,  the  Grumbler,  and  others  with  names  equally 
significant.  In  three  beautiful  volumes  on  parchment,  in  manuscript  richly 
painted  and  gilded,  preserved  .  in  the  Ambras  Collection  in  Vienna,  Maxi- 
milian has  collected  drawings  and  descriptions  of  the  imperial  artillery  and 
ordnance.  Almost  every  cannon  has  its  name,  and  German  rhymes  playing 
upon  it,  written  on  the  drawing. 


THE  LAST  VICTORY. 

NOTE  28,  p.  130. 

In  1513  Henry  VIII.  of  England  took  up  arms  for  the  Pope  against  France, 
and,  collecting  a  large  army,  crossed  the  Straits  to  Calais,  and  laid  siege  to 
Terouenne.  Maximilian,  on  the  spur  of  the  moment,  raised  several  squadrons 
of  horse  and  foot,  and  by  forced  marches  hurried  from  Germany  through 
Belgium  to  the  English  camp.  On  the  way  he  was  joined  by  re-inforcements 
levied  by  his  daughter  Margaret,  regent  of  the  Netherlands. 


198  NOTES. 

The  English  army  invested  the  town  in  three  divisions.  On  the  east, 
Henry  was  pressing  the  siege  in  person,  Talbot  on  the  south,  and  the  Duke 
of  Somerset  on  the  west  and  north. 

Henry  met  Maximilian  at  St.  Omer,  saluted  him  as  "  father,"  and  accepted 
his  services  as  a  volunteer,  with  the  pay  of  an  hundred  crowns  per  diem.  The 
next  day  they  made  together  a  reconnaissance  of  the  fortifications,  and  of 
the  ground  in  the  neighbourhood.  While  thus  engaged,  news  was  brought 
to  them  that  the  King  of  France  would  within  two  days  send  on  all  his  cavalry 
from  Amiens,  with  provisions  for  the  relief  of  the  besieged.  It  was  determined 
to  cross  the  Lis,  and  meet  them  on  the  way. 

Talbot  remained  before  Terouenne.  The  rest  of  the  forces  passed  the  river  on 
extemporized  bridges,  and  were  formed  in  two  divisions,  the  horse  under  the 
command  of  Maximilian,  Henry  and  Somerset  taking  the  lead  of  the  infantry. 
The  emperor,  in  a  few  words  of  encouragement,  reminded  his  troops  that  the 
ground  was  the  scene  of  one  of  his  old  victories  ;  and  that  though  his  beard 
and  hair  had  whitened  since  then,  his  heart  was  as  red  as  ever,  and  promised 
that  they  would  find  him  when  they  followed  in  the  thick  of  the  fight.  The 
Germans,  who  first  knew  of  his  presence  in  the  camp  when  he  lifted  his  helmet 
to  speak,  received  him  with  repeated  shouts  of  enthusiasm.  Meanwhile  the 
French  cavalry  to  the  number  of  8000  under  the  Duke  of  Pienne  were  ap- 
proaching, with  the  pack-horses  and  waggon-trains  loaded  with  provision,  in  their 
midst.  They  were  veteran  troops,  victors  in  many  battles.  Maximilian  ad- 
vanced his  horse,  Henry  following  at-  a  rapid  march  with  the  foot-soldiers. 
When  they  were  near  Guinegate,  the  signal  of  attack  was  given  by  sound  of 
trumpet;  and  dashing. his  spurs  into  his  horse,  the  emperor  with  his  usual 
reckless  valour  rushed  upon  the  enemy,  and  unhorsed  a  French  knight.  The 
French  ranks  could  not  withstand  the  impetuosity  of  the  onset,  and  were 
thrown  into  utter  disorder,  in  spite  of  the  gallant  and  persistent  efforts  of 
their  leader  to  rally  them.  They  broke  and  fled,  leaving  several  of  their  dis- 
tinguished captains  prisoners,  who  were  ransomed  upon  the  spot.  The  flight 
became  a  rout.  The  Duke  of  Pienne  escaped  with  small  loss  to  Blangy,  where 
he  received  the  fugitives.  Most  of  their  standards  were  captured.  They  lost 
all  their  provisions,  artillery,  and  baggage.  Pontus  Heuterus,  whose  account 
we  have  followed,  mentions  that  in  his  youth  he  had  heard  old  men  say  that  it 
was  called  at  the  time  the  Battle  of  the  Spurs. 


NOTES.  199 


MAX  IN   AUGSBURG. 

NOTE  29,  p.  145. 

When  Maximilian  held  his  last  diet  at  Augsburg,  Albert  Durer  was  present, 
and  painted  his  portrait.  At  the  same  time  he  made  a  half-length  sketch  in 
black  chalk,  preserved  in  the  collection  of  the  Archduke  Albert,  at  Vienna,  and 
inscribed  in  Diirer's  hand  : — "  Here  is  the  Kaiser  of  whom  I,  Albert  Diirer 
in  Augsburg,  high  in  the  palace  in  his  little  chamber,  made  the  counterfeit, 
1518,  on  the  Monday  after  John  the  Baptist." 

Diirer  was  held  in  the  highest  esteem  by  Maximilian,  who  knighted  him, 
and  conferred  on  him  the  title  of  painter  to  the  Imperial  court.  In  honour 
of  his  benefactor  and  friend,  the  artist,  besides  the  admirable  portrait  engraved 
and  published  shortly  after  the  emperor's  death,  designed  "  The  Triumphal 
Car  of  Kaiser  Maximilian  I.,"  representing  in  a  series  of  engravings  the  gor- 
geous chariot  of  the  Kaiser,  drawn  by  twelve  horses,  led  by  nymphs  representing 
the  Virtues,  while  victory  crowns  him  with  the  laurel-wreath.  The  "  Triumphal 
Arch  of  Kaiser  Max"  is  a  tribute  on  a  larger  scale,  proving  perhaps  no  less 
the  encouragement  that  the  emperor  was  disposed  to  bestow  upon  art,  than 
the  zeal  with  which  the  artist  devoted  himself  to  commemorate  the  reign  and 
the  race  of  the  emperor.  This  work  was  engraved  on  ninety-two  blocks,  an 
immense  labour,  that  must  have  occupied  many  artists  for  several  years.  The 
second  impression  of  the  work  as  completed  was  edited  by  .Bartsch  at  Vienna, 
in  1779. 


THE  RETURN   HOME. 

NOTE  30,  p.  165. 

Conrad  von  der  Rosen,  the  court  fool  and  faithful  life-long  friend  of  the 
emperor,  survived  him.  See  Karl  Flogel's  Geschichte  der  Hofnarren,  pp. 
190-203.  (1789.) 


200  NO  TES. 

NOTE  31,  p.  166. 

Sigismund  von  Dietrichstein  was  one  of  the  dearest  friends  of  the  knightly 
emperor,  and  is  buried  at  his  feet,  under  the  altar  of  the  Gothic  Chapel  of  St. 
George,  in  the  old  Ducal  Castle  at  Neustadt. 


KNIGHT    VENTURESOME. 

NOTE  32,  p.  172. 

Der  Theuerdank,  which  may  be  translated  "  one  who  meditates  adventures," 
is  an  allegorical  epic  of  knight  errantry,  whose  hero,  Maximilian  himself,  is 
involved  in  a  series  of  adventures  by  three  inimical  allegorical  personages, 
to  wit :  Fiirwittig  (Indiscretion,  Youthful  Rashness);  Onfallo  (Mischance, 
Hostility  of  the  Elements) ;  and  Neydelhart  (Envy,  Malevolence,  Misanthropy). 
He  triumphs  over  them  all,  however,  in  the  long  run,  and  wins  for  his  bride 
the  beautiful  princess  Ehrenreich  (Rich  in  Honour)  Mary  of  Burgundy. 

This  poem  is  said  to  have  been  written  by  Melchior  Pfinzing,  one  of  his 
secretaries,  from  biographical  memoranda  written  or  dictated  by  the  emperor 
himself.  The  Nuremberg  edition  of  1517  is  a  typographical  master-piece.  It  is 
decorated  with  numerous  engravings  from  designs  of  Hans  Burgmaier  and 
Hans  Schaufflein.  The  impression  so  closely  resembles  a  MS.  that  many 
printers  have  thought  the  effect  could  have  been  produced  only  by  the  xylo- 
graphic  process.  Similar  perfection  was  attained  by  Schcensperger,  printer  to 
the  emperor,  in  the  Book  of  Hours,  of  which  ten  copies  were  printed  on  vellum, 
one  of  which,  with  beautiful  designs  by  Albert  Diirer,  exists  in  an  unfinished 
state  in  the  library  at  Munich. 


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